Earth's Greatest Magus



Amidst the fiery battles that engulfed the Demon's Pit below, an entirely different scene unfolded within the cold confines of the Umbra Space Fortress.

Floating high above the planet's surface, this fortress served as the strategic nerve center of the dark elves. Its walls contained a myriad of rooms, but in one, in particular, a group of elves were huddled, their eyes glued to a multitude of light displays.

The room was filled with an eerie glow, the only light source being the holographic displays filled with information.

Suddenly, the door hissed open, and a grand magus figure strode in. He was an imposing figure, clad in an intricate robe signifying his high status. At his entrance, the room went quiet, the elves standing in deference to the newcomer.

"High Warden," they greeted, their voices resonating with respect and submission.

The High Warden nodded in acknowledgment and turned his attention to the light displays. His keen eyes flickered over the data streams, absorbing the information. The areas under his command were of strategic importance: Darksteel Citadel, Blackstar Bastions, and his personal favorite, the Demon's Pit.

One of the elves, dressed in a simple grey uniform, stepped forward and start to recount the events of a battle that had transpired a few days ago. It was a tale of loss, a brutal conflict that led to the death of 9 humans and 2 of the dark elves.

This wasn't mere conjecture; their information was derived from two key sources. The visual feeds from above provided a bird's eye view of the skirmishes, another was the soul bindings they had placed on their prisoners. 

At this report, a smile slowly crawled onto the High Warden's face. He leaned in, his interest piqued, and asked for more detail. His eyes glinted in the eerie glow of the light displays, eager to delve deeper into the events of the recent past.

"They've managed to wound the Khan?" the High Warden asked, his voice echoing the surprise he felt.

The elf in the grey uniform nodded. "Yes, High Warden. Malachai the Durokhai is still in recovery."

Hearing this, the High Warden's eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued. He gestured toward the visual feeds, manipulating them with an ease born from familiarity. He zoomed in on the chaos below, the figures fighting on the ground becoming larger, although the clarity was limited due to the distance. Yet, amidst the blur, he spotted a figure that stood out. It was a half-blood wolf, its feral strength overpowering the dark elf chief.

"It's him…" the High Warden murmured. His gaze fixated on the half-blood wolf, a glint of interest sparking in his eyes. "Interesting."

The elf in the grey uniform added "High Warden, this is the roster for the next batch of prisoners to be sent to the Demon's Pit," he reported, presenting a digital list.

However, the High Warden shook his head. "No more prisoners will be sent to the Demon's Pit until further notice," he declared, surprising everyone in the room.

It was a highly unusual command, contradicting their standard protocol. The High Warden didn't owe his subordinates an explanation, but his grimace spoke volumes. He was clearly discontented with the situation. The truth was, this command wasn't his own. He had received orders from the higher-ups, something about a special dark elf unit showing interest in one of the prisoners.

"Those Voidstalkers, dare to interfere with my operations!" he grumbled, his anger thinly veiled.

#####

Inside the citadel of the Demon's Pit, where the dark elf prisoners resided, an oppressive silence hung in the air. It had been two weeks since the brutal brawl that had left their chief severely wounded. Since then, the dark elves had ceased all hunting and other activities, following the orders of their debilitated chief to instead focus on fortifying the citadel.

With the Khan holding the key to the orc's hordes, there was not much the group of 40 dark elves could do anything about it.

However, the forced inactivity and defensive stance were chafing at the nerves of some of the more bloodthirsty elves, specifically the Hashasi assassins.

Kieran who had the respect of the other twenty Drows dark elves was irritated with the decision. The lack of bloodshed and action was pushing him to the brink.

Finally, his patience snapped. With a feral growl, Kieran stormed towards the main chamber of the citadel, the sanctum of the Khan. However, as before, he was halted by Vespera the female Dunmer.

"What are you trying to do, Drows? You are not allowed here!" she barked, her voice echoing in the dimly lit corridor.

But this time, Kieran was done playing by the rules. Ignoring her words, he continued his march, his form shifting, blending into the shadows. Within moments, he materialized by the door to the chamber, pushing it open with a decisive shove.

"Kieran! You dare!" the female dark elf shrieked, the surprise and anger clear in her voice. She started to chase after him, but Kieran was resolute, his determination driving him forward. 

As Kieran stepped into the inner sanctum, he found a sight that both shocked and angered him. There in the bed, his chief, Malakahi the Khan, was not laying wounded as they all thought. Instead, he was reclining leisurely, sandwiched between a male and a female Dunmer, all of them completely naked.

At Kieran's abrupt intrusion, the Khan's relaxed demeanor turned livid. With an agile motion that belied his earlier supposed injury, the Khan sprang from the bed. His massive arm swung out in a vicious arc, striking Kieran with such force that the Drow was flung across the room, crashing to the stone floor.

Kieran's annoyance escalated into outrage. He had believed his chief was wounded, had respected his orders out of that belief. But now, to find the Khan perfectly well and choosing not to engage in battle, was a revelation that riled him to the core.

Ignoring the throbbing pain from the Khan's blow, Kieran staggered to his feet. His gaze was locked onto the Khan as he declared, "My Khan, the humans have not been harvesting supplies for two weeks now... It's the best time to strike them!"

But his words fell on deaf ears. The Khan was too consumed by rage to heed Kieran's strategic input. Instead, he decided to give the defiant Drow another lesson. With a powerful kick, he sent Kieran hurtling toward the wall. The impact rattled the room, dust and debris raining down from the old masonry.

The violent treatment finally broke Kieran's patience. Clambering back to his feet, a stubborn resolve set in his features. He locked eyes with the Khan, his voice ringing out in the silent room.

"You don't deserve to be our Khan! I demand a Mak tu Vor!" His challenge echoed through the room, a proclamation of battle to the death.