The air inside Snow Veil Sanctum was cold and stale, thick with the scent of dust and death. Candles flickered weakly along the stone walls, throwing restless shadows that danced between the tombs. Mercer and Eradros advanced cautiously through the narrow passage, weapons drawn, every step echoing in the crypt's hollow silence.
They entered a chamber lined with coffins. Draugr corpses littered the floor—some half-buried in rubble, others lying broken across the flagstones. Several coffins stood upright against the walls, while others lay open and empty. It was clear someone had already been through.
Eradros scanned the room carefully, eyes sharp, studying the disturbed earth and drag marks along the floor. Mercer, meanwhile, was already distracted.
"Would you look at that," Mercer muttered, spotting a chest at the altar's base. "She killed the draugr and left the loot? Can't say I'd have done the same."
He chuckled and knelt beside the chest, pulling a lockpick from his belt.
"Mercer—wait!"
Too late. The lock clicked open, and the chest creaked ajar.
A sound rippled through the chamber—a deep, sickening groan as coffin lids began to shake and slide free. One by one they crashed onto the floor. The dead stirred.
Within seconds, a dozen draugr clawed their way from their tombs, eyes glowing with spectral light.
"Shit," Mercer hissed, drawing his sword. "She must've reset all the traps as she passed through. Clever girl. I knew she'd make this fun."
A draugr lunged at him with a rusted blade. Mercer spun to parry—but Eradros was faster, slicing through its neck in one clean motion.
Before Mercer could thank him, the rest of the draugr surged forward. The two thieves fought back to back, steel flashing in the candlelight. Their movements were efficient, ruthless. Within moments the chamber fell silent again, the floor littered with the newly dead.
Mercer straightened, sliding his sword into its sheath. "Well, well. Glad one of us has a sharp eye for survival."
Eradros glared. "You should pay more attention. This isn't a field trip."
He turned and continued toward the next corridor without waiting for an answer.
"No need for the death stare, lad," Mercer called after him. "Save that for Karliah, would you?"
Eradros ignored him. Mercer sighed, muttering to himself as he followed.
The passage opened into a broader chamber. Pillars split the room, and long, thin slits carved into the walls held offerings—coins, jewelry, urns, and bones. Some alcoves were empty; others still cradled corpses, their arms crossed in eternal rest.
"She must've slipped through here carefully," Eradros murmured, eyeing the floor. "Reset the traps so anyone following would trigger them instead."
"Child's play for her," Mercer said under his breath. "This tour just keeps getting better."
A low, guttural growl echoed from the corridor ahead. Mercer raised a hand to halt him, pointing at the ground.
Eradros froze mid-step. Beneath his boot was a faintly raised pressure plate—rigged to a massive wall of spikes that stood mounted in the archway.
Mercer smirked, wagging a finger. "Tsk, tsk."
But before either could move, heavy footsteps began to reverberate from the darkness beyond the hall. Slow. Measured. Too heavy to be human.
They backed away from the doorway, blades raised.
Eradros felt a presence behind him—a low, rasping breath. He turned sharply to find a draugr inches from his face. Reflex took over. Steel flashed, and the creature's head fell to the ground with a hollow thud.
The noise was enough. All around them, the dead began to stir.
"Damn it," Eradros hissed.
The draugr rose in unison, weapons scraping against stone. From the corridor came a deeper rumble—footsteps now pounding forward, each one heavier than the last.
Before Eradros could react, Mercer was already in motion, cutting through the advancing draugr with frightening speed.
"Ha! Did she think any of these would be a match for me?" he shouted, blades flashing in a blur of gold and steel.
Eradros had to admit, the man's technique was viciously precise—feral and refined at once. But then the ground trembled. The air shifted.
A hulking figure emerged from the hallway—a draugr in heavy armor, wielding a greatsword. Its eyes glowed brighter than the rest.
"Mercer!" Eradros shouted. "Behind you!"
Mercer turned just as the creature inhaled sharply. Its mouth opened wide—
—and the Voice erupted.
A blast of raw force struck them both like a battering ram. They were hurled backward, slamming against the far wall. Dust rained from the ceiling as the draugr advanced, flanked by a few stragglers.
Eradros coughed, struggling to stand. "What the hell is that thing? And why can it use the Voice?"
"That," Mercer said, hauling himself up, "is a Draugr Scourge. Bit tougher than your run-of-the-mill corpse."
The scourge drew back for another Shout, its chest swelling with power. Mercer grabbed Eradros and shoved him aside just as it released the blast. The wave tore through the room, scattering bones, offerings, and debris. Dust engulfed everything, leaving only the eerie blue glow of the scourge's eyes.
The two regrouped, blades raised. Another draugr swung at Eradros, who dodged and countered, cleaving it cleanly across the chest. Mercer waded in beside him, cutting down the remaining undead with quick, brutal precision.
Soon, only the scourge remained. It roared, swinging its massive sword in wide, furious arcs. Mercer blocked, though each clash drove him a step backward. The thing's strength was immense.
"Well, don't just stand there!" Mercer barked between parries. "This thing's no pushover!"
Eradros steadied himself, eyes narrowing. "I have a plan."
He joined the fray, their blades striking in tandem. Together they attacked from opposite sides, their rhythm quickening with each exchange. If the scourge swung at one, the other struck its flank. Blow by blow, their coordination tightened until the creature was forced onto the defensive.
"That's it," Eradros called out, breath ragged. "Just a bit more!"
Mercer unleashed a relentless flurry, driving the scourge backward toward the corridor. The creature stumbled into the doorway—the very one rigged with the spike trap.
Eradros grabbed the severed head of a fallen draugr and raised it. The scourge's eyes locked on him, fury building as it began to inhale again.
"Now, Mercer! Get back!"
He hurled the head down the hallway. It struck the pressure plate with a heavy click.
The spiked wall swung around in a blur, slamming into the scourge with a sickening crunch. Steel and bone split alike as the creature was pinned to the doorway. One of the spikes impaled it clean through the mouth, cutting off its final Shout in a wet gurgle.
The wall creaked back into place, leaving the corpse hanging limp upon it.
Both men stood frozen for a breath, panting, sweat running cold down their faces.
Mercer exhaled a low whistle, eyes fixed on the body. "Well… that's one way to shut him up."
Eradros rested his sword against his shoulder, trying to catch his breath.
Mercer exhaled sharply, running a hand across his brow. "Whew! I gotta say, that was a pretty clever move—and impeccable timing, might I add. I don't think I could've kept that up much longer."
Eradros sheathed his weapons beneath his cloak, brushing the dust from his armor. When he looked up, Mercer was watching him with that ever-present grin.
"…What?" Eradros asked flatly.
"Not gonna lie," Mercer said, tilting his head, "I always pegged you as a milk drinker. I see now that I couldn't have been more wrong. You're a very effective fighter."
"I'll try not to take offense to that first part," Eradros replied. "You're not so bad yourself."
Mercer chuckled. "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet. That scourge just got the drop on us. The next won't be so lucky."
"Well, let's hope there are no 'next,' shall we?" Eradros said dryly. "That thing nearly killed us both through exhaustion alone."
He started down the next corridor, boots scraping against the cold stone. Mercer lingered for a moment, kneeling to loot the fallen draugr before catching up.
At the end of the hall stood two large wooden doors, flanked by tall candles that bathed the walls in trembling light. They paused before them, silent for a long moment.
"What do you think?" Mercer murmured. "Possible ambush?"
"This whole endeavor's been one big ambush," Eradros replied. "At this point, I don't really care. I just want to get this over with."
He removed the wooden plank barring the way and threw the doors open.
The chamber beyond was vast—columns rising like pillars of bone, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay. Coffins lined the walls in neat, dreadful rows, some cracked open, others ominously sealed. At the far end, a staircase climbed toward an altar where a throne-like chair waited in stillness.
In the chair sat a figure.
As they approached, it began to move.
The corpse straightened, eyes igniting with a blue spectral glow. Then, with a roar that shook the entire room, it rose to its feet. The sound echoed like thunder, rattling the stone and snapping open the coffins along the walls. One by one, their lids burst free as draugr clawed their way into the open.
"You can't be serious…" Eradros muttered.
Mercer drew both blades, backing up. The figure atop the stairs loomed large, draped in ancient armor crowned with horned helm. Even among the undead, it radiated authority.
"A draugr Deathlord?" Mercer said, half laughing. "Okay, Karliah—this officially isn't fun anymore."
The lesser draugr shambled forward in unison as the Deathlord raised its sword and bellowed another Shout, the wave of force rippling across the chamber. It seemed to command them.
Then, without warning, Mercer crossed his arms, and a dark, misty aura enveloped him. In the blink of an eye—he was gone.
A flicker of magic echoed through the air, followed by silence.
"Mercer!?" Eradros shouted, spinning around. "Dammit, did he just leave me here?"
There was no answer—only the hiss of steel.
Arrows whistled through the room. Eradros dove behind one of the towering pillars, the impact of arrows splintering stone near his head. Draugr swarmed in, weapons drawn. The first lunged; Eradros met it with a swift parry and a spinning slash that cleaved through its torso.
The next approached—and was interrupted by another Shout from the Deathlord. The force hurled Eradros backward into the wall. He hit hard, breath leaving his lungs. Before he could rise, more draugr closed in.
He fought through them one at a time, ducking between pillars for cover. Fighting at such close range while dodging arrows and avoiding the Deathlord's Shouts was madness—but he had no choice. Each roar from the Deathlord sent tremors through the floor. He knew one direct hit would end him.
He weaved through the chaos, blade flashing as he cut down another undead. Snatching a fallen knife from the ground, he hurled it at one of the archers perched in the shadows. The blade struck true, burying itself in the creature's skull.
Then came another Shout—louder, deeper—but this time there was no wave of force.
Confused, Eradros peered from behind the pillar.
The Deathlord was standing right in front of him.
"But you were just—"
Before Eradros could finish his sentence, the Deathlord's hand shot forward and closed around his throat. The grip was like iron. His feet left the ground instantly, boots scraping against the stone as he clawed at the creature's arm.
He dropped his sword, fingers digging into the draugr's wrist, but the pressure only increased. The ancient flesh felt like cold leather stretched over steel. He kicked, thrashed, tried to twist free—nothing. His lungs began to burn.
The Deathlord lifted him higher, its arm unmoving, its strength absolute. The world started to blur at the edges. His breath came in short, broken bursts that barely escaped his throat.
Then—something strange.
Through the dim haze of his fading vision, he saw the other draugr collapsing one by one. Their bodies crumpled soundlessly, as if their strings had been cut. He had no time to question it. The Deathlord was still staring into him with hollow blue eyes, its other hand drawing back an ebony sword.
It pulled him closer until their faces were only inches apart. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from its chest, foul breath washing over him. Eradros tried to look away, but his neck was locked tight in its grasp. The blade rose slowly beside them, ready to pierce straight through his chest.
His vision tunneled. The edges of the world went dark.
Then—steel met bone.
A sudden, wet stab, followed by a piercing shriek. The Deathlord's eyes widened in shock. Its fingers slackened. Eradros fell hard to the floor, coughing violently, clutching his throat as air flooded back into his lungs.
Through the haze, he saw Mercer standing behind the undead warrior, his dwarven blade driven clean through its chest cavity. The glow in the Deathlord's eyes flickered, then dimmed completely. Its body shuddered once before collapsing in a heap, armor clattering across the stone.
Mercer wrenched his sword free, letting the corpse fall in pieces.
Eradros stayed on the ground, gasping and rubbing the bruises already forming on his neck. Mercer knelt beside him and gave him a few firm pats on the back, his tone maddeningly casual.
"Now, now," he said, "you didn't actually think I'd leave you hanging like that, did you?"
Eradros coughed harshly between words. "Well, a warning… would've been… nice."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Mercer replied breezily. "Kinda just sprang into action back there. Didn't have much time to think, y'know? You did a great job distracting that thing, though, I must say."
Eradros rose slowly, still rubbing at his throat. He didn't respond—only cut Mercer a sidelong look before striding deeper into the chamber.
"Hey," Mercer called, "where are you going?"
"I spotted the exit while the life was being choked out of me. It's this way."
"Even in death you're still looking for a way out," Mercer said with a laugh. "You're a true thief, my friend."
They crossed the room, stepping over shattered bones and scattered weapons until they reached a narrow hallway. The walls here were lined with carved murals—Nordic etchings winding along the stone from floor to ceiling.
At the far end stood a massive circular door, its face carved with three rotating rings marked by ancient symbols. In the center was an indented circle—clearly where a key should go.
"Great," Eradros muttered. "I don't suppose you have the thing we need for this."
Mercer shook his head. "I do not. But fortunately for you, we don't need one."
Eradros eyed him skeptically. "Are you sure? The locking mechanism on this seems… complicated."
Mercer approached the door, running a gloved hand across its carved surface. "To the untrained eye, maybe. There's a special claw-shaped key with matching symbols that unlocks it. Without it, you can't get in—but a vet like me knows a trick or two. These things have weaknesses, you see."
He fidgeted with the keyhole for only a few seconds before a deep grinding sound filled the air. The rings began to shift, one by one, until the door sank into the ground with a heavy rumble.
Eradros raised a brow. "…Well done."
Mercer grinned. "Maybe I'll teach it to you sometime. C'mon—Karliah's definitely in here. Eyes up."
Eradros nodded in response as they both stepped through the newly opened door, blades out.
He took only a few steps into the room before a sharp sting ripped through his left shoulder. The force spun him halfway around. He looked down in disbelief—an arrow jutted from his arm, blood running dark along the shaft. The hit wasn't fatal, but its poison worked fast. His muscles seized. His grip failed.
He fell to one knee, gasping, struggling to stay upright. The world tilted and darkened at the edges, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. He tried to speak—to warn Mercer—but the words stuck in his throat. His vision blurred, his voice gone.
He turned toward his companion. Mercer hadn't stopped walking. He continued forward at a casual pace, hands steady, his silhouette wreathed in shifting black mist.
Eradros collapsed completely, cheek pressing against the cold stone floor. His breath came shallow, vision fading in and out. Through the haze, he saw movement—a hooded Dunmer woman stepping from the shadows, bow still raised.
Karliah.
Eradros's mind reeled. Had Mercer known? Had this been the plan all along? The thought twisted through his fading consciousness as he lay paralyzed, able only to listen.
Mercer's voice echoed through the hall, smooth and mocking.
"Karliah! There you are, you sly little fox. How's life treatin' ya?"
"Cut the pleasantries, Mercer. I know what you're here for."
"Come on now… how long's it been since we last spoke? You really wanna get straight to business without hearing what I've been up to?"
Karliah didn't answer. She simply stood there, bow in hand, watching him.
Mercer smiled and gestured lazily with his arm.
"You know, I gotta say—that little move you pulled with the Golden Glow Estate…"
He brought his hand to his lips and kissed the tips of his fingers.
"Nice touch. Really. Such a… 'Gallus' thing to do."
Her voice cracked like a whip.
"Do not mention his name, murderer!"
Mercer only smirked. He drew a dagger from the sheath strapped to his leg, turning it in the candlelight as though admiring a fine jewel.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. I hate it when people frown at me—it hurts my feelings."
He ran the blade slowly along his cheek, tracing its edge with perverse fondness.
"You know, Gallus looked at me like that too… when he found out what I was doing. Oh, that frown of his… I just couldn't bear it. So I carved a smile right into his dead face."
Karliah's voice trembled with fury.
"Your greed has warped you, Mercer! It's warped the power Nocturnal bestowed upon you. Do you see nothing wrong with betraying your brethren—your fellow Nightingale?"
Mercer chuckled darkly.
"That fool had everything most men only dream of—wealth, intelligence, influence. Hell, he even had you as the naive cherry on top. All he had to do was look the other way."
"You swore an oath!"
"To hell with the oath!" Mercer roared. "To hell with Nocturnal and her blasted Nightingales! I've taken this power for myself now. I serve no god, no guild—only me!"
The black aura around him flared, swirling like smoke given life.
"From this moment forward, I serve me and me only. Now, you claim to know why I'm here, right? Then hand it over—or die. Your choice."
Karliah's tone hardened.
"Oh, you mean the one thing that could clear my name and ruin you for good? Not a chance."
Mercer unsheathed his longsword, lowering into a stance.
"Doing this the hard way then. Fine! I'll give you a matching smile to Gallus'."
Karliah moved first—casting an illusion spell that rippled across the air. In an instant, she vanished.
Mercer laughed.
"Running away, are we? Smart. Can't say I blame you!"
Her voice echoed faintly, distant and ethereal.
"I'm no fool, Mercer. I know crossing blades with you is a death sentence. But make no mistake—the next time we meet… will be your reckoning."
Her presence vanished completely, leaving only silence.
Eradros lay helpless, unable to move. He could hear Mercer's boots scraping the floor as he approached, slow and deliberate. This was it. Mercer was coming for him.
The thief crouched beside him, inspecting the dagger in his hand, his body still radiating that eerie dark mist.
"I honestly have to thank you, my friend," he said conversationally. "You're the one who made all of this possible, you know that? Now, I know what you're thinkin'—'You shot me with a poison arrow!'"
He waved his arms in mock exasperation.
"That actually wasn't me. As much as I'd love to take the credit, I can't. Still, it worked out beautifully, didn't it? I mean, look at you. How lucky could I be? Truth is, I was planning to kill you the moment you waltzed that stupid, motherless face back into the Guild. And your timing? Absolutely impeccable—as always."
His grin widened as he spoke, eyes glinting with manic pleasure.
"This little scheme I've been cookin'—it's almost finished. And loose ends like you, well… they tend to ruin things."
He pressed the dagger's tip beneath Eradros's chin, forcing his head up.
"And we just can't have that now, can we? So thanks again… for helping me end you."
The blade slipped away from his chin, and with a single, practiced motion, Mercer drove it straight into his chest.
Eradros's body jerked violently, a silent scream frozen in his throat. Then all strength left him. He slumped to the floor, breath rasping shallowly through blood-slick lips.
Mercer stood, calmly wiping the dagger clean.
"It's like I said before, Era, my boy… you're just too damned honorable."
He turned and strode from the chamber, his laughter echoing faintly as it faded into the dark.
Eradros lay motionless, eyes half-open, vision slipping into shadow. His breathing slowed until it was little more than a whisper.
The room grew still. Mercer and Karliah were gone.
Only another victim remained.
Chapter End—