Serana looked down from the icy fortifications, tapping the hilt of her sword nervously as the vanguard of the joint Thalmor-Vampire alliance advanced over the far crest: a horde of scared, shoddily armed, and clearly newly blooded vampires. Behind them, in the moonlight the twisted, horrific ruins of what had once been Whiterun glittered, the mind-bending geometry reflecting the silver rays in a way that made her head spin.


    Serana had fought in plenty of battles before, although never one on this scale. The Psijic order had hundreds of members, and thousands of battle-golems that were finer, and more advanced, than anything she had ever seen before even in Dwemer ruins.


    Almost every single member of Winterhold college was present as well, bolstering their numbers with another eighty mages and a small army of atronachs. Almost every member, barring the megalomaniacal little flying reptile that everyone agreed was not only too young, but far, far, far too volatile and unpredictable to take part in a real battle.


    Sure, Capri might have been a pretty strong mage, and had enough innate powers as an ''Azerothian Dragon'' to make even a Higher Vampire like her jealous, but she was also incompetent in the extreme. Every single fight Serana had ever seen Capri take part in, the tiny ''dragon'' had only really survived through a combination of blind luck and natural resilience. She knew a few neat tricks, and clearly had a pretty good mind for spell-crafting, but she was two.


    No, Capri had been put ''in charge'' –for she only consented to being in charge of things– of the defence of the Throat of the World, the absolute last fall back position that they had. Einar, her kindly, handsome, and seemingly infinitely patient minder had gone with her, mainly to make sure she didn''t decide to ''heroically intervene,'' as she would have put it, and quite possibly find a way to completely sabotage a crucial part of the defence. That or pick a fight with someone on their side for absolutely no reason.


    It wasn''t a bad coalition, all up, but from what their scrying had shown, the Thalmor had a worrying number of troops, and her father had managed to amass quite a sizeable horde of vampires from across Tamriel. Thousands of them were clearly new-bloods, cannon-fodder turned from poor hapless refugees fleeing Skyrim, but there were also entire retinues of vampires from the great houses across the continent. No one had seen the flying ''Planeswalker'' that Caprifexia was so absolutely terrified of, but Mirael was surely there somewhere.


    Serana reached into her satchel, bringing out a set of three phials of potions she''d brewed in the last few days of interminable waiting. They tasted foul as they went down, but she immediately felt herself grow stronger, faster, and tougher as they settled into her stomach.


    She drew her sword and bared her fangs, and a moment later with a series of ''whooshes'' the magical siege engines that the Winterhold mages had built fired, arcing massive chunks of jagged ice over the walls and toward the shakily advancing line of vampires.


    A few of the new-bloods managed to shield, but most of them clearly hadn''t had time to learn any magic since they''d been turned, and scores died as the icy projectiles crashed into their lines, bursting in waves of razor sharp ice that eviscerated entire formations. At the same time, runic ''mines'' began to explode, killing more of the new-vampires and briefly obscuring all view of the battlefield as the detonations sent snow spraying high into the air.


    Despite the casualties, however, the vanguard didn''t slow their advance, the rear ranks breaking into a sprint as they clambered over their fallen comrades. Behind them the from of the true army crested the rise, and the Thalmor mages began to cast. Serana raised a hand against the glare of two dozen fireballs as they smashed into the ward-line.


    Spellfire whizzed between the fortress and the army as the attackers closed, the cross-bow wielding golems turning their fire against the main army as the Thalmor archers also came into range. Most of the enemy fire was turned aside by the wards, but not everything, and Serana''s sword blurred up to deflect an arrow that streaked toward the blonde haired woman beside her who wasn''t quick enough to shield.


    "Thanks," said white-faced woman, Lomeria, Serana thought her name was, giving her a nod before conjuring a ball of crackling lightning and hurling it down at the oncoming vampires. The bolt struck one of disintegrated them instantly, before arcing between a dozen more and reducing them to ash.


    There was a roar from above, and Serana looked up to see a flight of seven dragons, Alduin the World Eater at their head, swoop toward the battlefield. The air shook with their shouts, and plumes of fire bloomed from their maws, sweeping across the battlefield and turning a further giant swathe of the new-blood vampires to ash.


    The dragons, however, did not come off unscathed, however, and one of them fell with a roar as the Thalmor and Vampire mages behind the vanguard concentrated fire on the closest, a brownish-red scaled behemoth that fell from the air with screaming roar and was immediately set upon by the tide of weak vampires. One of the fallen dragon''s companions turned back to aid them, but met a similar fate as his companion as they too were shot out of the air.


    Serana clicked her teeth in irritation, had the dragons bothered to coordinate with them they could have told them a head on attack against so many mages would have been suicidal. But dragons, regardless of what universe they came from, were apparently arrogant fools.


    The remaining dragons, Alduin included, realised that there were too many enemy mages to contend with out in the open, fell back behind the wall, hurling elemental blasts from afar. Things grew more chaotic as the battle progressed. Battles between a handful of mages were terrifying spectacles of destruction, two armies of magic users, and the five remaining dragons made it feel like they''d all been suddenly shifted into one of the realms of Oblivion. Fire and ice and lightning rained from the sky, and the mountainside shook with unleashed elemental power.


    The new bloods, whose numbers seemed endless, tried to raise ladders as behind them the older vampires and Thalmor kept their distance, focusing on shielding, blasting apart the fortifications, and taking down the protective wards. Serana restrained herself, shielding only occasionally, and not unleashing her magic below. She was a pretty powerful mage, it was true, and could wreak destruction from afar, but there were plenty of mages here who could do that, and few to none who could fight like battlemages in close-quarters combat.


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    She didn''t need to wait long though, as further along a particularly lucky group of young vampires managed to reach the wall with a ladder. They immediately began to vault upward. Serana broke into a sprint, racing past the mages and golems, and reached the ladder just as the first new-blooded vampire got to the top. It was a Breton woman, and judging by her floury apron, she had been a cook. A cook unlucky enough to run into one of the retinues of vampires that had made their way north against the flow of refugees.


    The woman wasn''t a refugee anymore, however. Now she was all snarling teeth and frenzied yellow eyes in the grip of an uncontrolled bloodlust. Serana took off her head before the vampire could get off the ladder, and sent the rest of them crashing back to the ground as she cut through the thick steel hooks affixing the ladder to the icy wall and kicking it back.


    She didn''t get time to revel in her swift victory, however, as further back along the line another ladder rose. And another. And another.


    Her sword and boots grew bloody as the areas around the ladders descended into wild melees, the young vampires clashing with the unfeeling and relentless war-golems. Serana lost track of how many of the new-bloods she slew, but it must have been close to a hundred before the wave of expendable arrow-fodder finally ebbed just as the dawn sun was rising.


    What young, lesser vampires hadn''t been slain burst into flames as the rays of sunlight washed over them, unable to withstand the uncomfortably bright rays. Although they had been trying to kill her, Serana felt a stab of pity for them. Even if they''d succeeded, her father never had any intention of shielding them from the sun. They''d been utterly expendable. Fodder to soften them up for the main army.


    A horn sounded in the distance, and Serana looked up to see the glittering Thalmor and Vampire hosts begin the main attack. The ward-line had failed perhaps half an hour earlier, there were great rents and tears in the icy fortification, and they were down to four dragons: Alduin, a dull-scaled green, and two yellowish wyrms. Hundreds of war-golems lay in pools of viscous black oil, and several dozen mages had already fallen.


    She spotted J''zargo down at one of the larger breaches with several other Winterhold mages quickly trying to patch the wall, and jumped down to join him.


    "Doing OK?" she asked her khajiit friend, lending her own magic to the effort.


    "J''zargo is unharmed," nodded J''zargo, directing a stream of freezing magic at the tear. "He has… never fought in a battle like this before. The Lady Serana?"


    "Fine," she said, gesturing to her blood soaked armour as the last of the rent closed. "Not mine."


    "The Lady Serana has… experience with battles like this, does she not?" asked J''zargo, rushing back up a set of walls to stare at the advancing main host, a hint of trepidation in his voice. He wasn''t on Capri''s level in terms of arrogance, no one was, but it was still unusual for the man to appear anything but totally confident.


    "Some," she said.


    "Can we win?" he asked.


    "My father''s managed to gather an awfully large number of vampires," she said. "Major houses too, thousands of years old… they''ll be tough. Really tough."


    "But can we win?" he asked.


    "Maybe," she said, looking over the assembled mages and the ranks of glittering silver golems. "I''ve never seen so many mages in one spot, the Psijic''s golems are pretty deadly, and we''ve got proper dragons on our side. Want my advice? Keep your head down, focus on the fight, and look out for your friends. Worrying about the larger picture is just distracting unless you''re a commander."


    J''zargo flexed his jaw and nodded, and she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning her attention toward the advancing host.


    Spells began flying a moment later, and after that arrows, and once again the world narrowed as things descended into chaos. A blast of ice there, a shield here, parry that sword, stab that elf, kick that vampire who she thought she recognised…


    The sky grew smoky from all the dragon and mage-fire being hurled around, painting the churned snow blood-red as it obscured the rising sun. Psijic monks and Winterhold mages died all around her, and golems were rent apart by ancient, blood-lusted vampires, and another dragon fell, but she kept on fighting, her unholy might keeping her standing as the snow and ice turned to crimson slush beneath her boots. She lost track of J''zargo at some point, and hoped he hadn''t perished, but in the heat of battle wasn''t able to go and look for him.


    They lost the outer wall and retreated inward, but slowly, gradually, she felt the tide begin to turn. The Thalmor might have been numerous and well trained, but they had nothing compared to the iron discipline and crushing brutality of the Psijic''s golems. The ancient vampire''s of the assembled houses were powerful, but so were the assembled mages, and without the ability to simply physically overpower them, protected as they were by foot-soldiers who didn''t feel fear, they found themselves somewhat outmatched. And with four, then three dragons on their side, now able to have their backs watched by the Psijic and Winterhold mages, there were entire areas of the front where the elf-vampire coalition was simply unable to advance.


    Serana had just decapitated one Countess Krestovitz, a vampire from Cyrodill who she had once considered a friend, when a horn sounded, and the elves and vampires began to retreat. A cheer went up from the defender''s line as the smoke began to clear, and Serana was about to join them until a bank of smoke wafted apart and she saw a winged figure across the battlefield.


    With her enhanced vision Serana could see a smirk on the ''Planeswalker''s'' face as she flared her wings and pushed themselves into the sky, terrible ''Void Magic'' wreathing Mirael''s hands as she raised them toward the monastery.


    "Get down!" screamed Serana, diving to the ground and conjuring a shield around herself as Mirael unleashed her spell.


    The ball of void magic streaked overhead and struck the monastery behind them, condensing and collapsing in on itself before vanishing entirely. For a moment, nothing happened, but then with an immense ''whump'' the magic detonated outward, washing outward in a wave of twisting, deadly, and destructive magic.


    Serana closed her eyes as the front of magic hit, the ground shaking around her as the awful magic tore and clawed and bit at her shield, threatening to overwhelm it. Forcing away panic she redoubled her effort, reinforcing her shield as huge shards of ice and rock and metal crashed down around her. She heard dozens of her comrades screaming in fear and terror and pain, and a dragon roaring in pain. She wanted to help them, but she could barely hold the shield over herself, let alone anyone else.


    Slowly, gradually, the terrible magic ebbed away, and Serana opened her eyes to see the nothing but half-annihilated, and twisted bodies where her comrades and been, and ruins of ice and rock where their fortifications and the monastery had stood.


    A handful of other mages had managed to shield themselves, and some looked like they had been outside the blast radius on the western edge of the wall, but the vast majority of their force was simply… gone. She spotted the twisted corpse of a half-eroded dragon, although no sign of the last two, hopefully at least Alduin had managed to survive…


    In the distance there was another blast of a horn, and she turned her head to see the regrouped Thalmor-Vampire alliance begin to advance, her father, who hadn''t yet taken to the field, riding smugly at its head atop a midnight black steed as overhead the hideously powerful Mirael wafted gently forward on her pair of alabaster wings.


    "Well… shit," said Serana weakly, levering herself upright with her sword. She supposed that explained by Capri had been so terrified of the other Planeswalker.