人成年视频免费

The first tried to assassinate Jon from the side but kick just kicked him back towards Odokuro, who raised its ebony katana and slashed one time at the elf who split in half. The second tried to launch a strong forbidden spell towards the ones behind Jon so that Jon gets forced to defend them but Nefertiti beheaded the insolent fool. The third and the fourth formed a dual spell to use illusions and escape but Xikil blue fire breath didn’t spare a clone or an original and Jon killed the two mages by making the Magicka explode in their hearts. The fifth mage was launching about to teleport away yet Jon only stretched his hand and pulled back the mage through space from where he teleported to impale him with a spear from the ground. The sixth mage was clever and summoned mighty looking Frost Atronachs and hid within them but Odokuro’s katana found its way to his heart. The last and the seventh Arch Wizard was a close combat mage who tried his best to attack Nefertiti only for her to punch his guts and for Xikil to wave its mace-like tail at him sending him towards Odokuro which stepped on the Arch Wizard making him kneel down and executed him with the Katana.

That was simply the fight, no wasting time or anything. Each Arch Wizard couldn’t last a single exchange.

The power of the Demigod was a world apart from the Arch Wizard. One must take note that in between the ’Demigod’ realm and the ’Arch Wizard’ realm there is a realm known as the ’Ancestor’ realm.

The Ancestors is not an Official Rank like the Arch Wizard which is the apex of the Arcane Arts, Ancestors can be warriors or anything and can even be more powerful than some Demigods. All in all, Ancestors are the most powerful existences a mortal can be and their ages are mostly over a thousand years old. Divayth Fyr and his Clone Daughters are all Ancestors and so is Lord Harkon of the Volkihar Clan.

No mundane force can order the Ancestors around and the Ancestors are always uninterested in the world of mortals spending their lives in seclusion to find ways to attain divinity.

In the end, no matter how the Thalmor in front of Jon tried, they were too outranked in every term or advantage.

Five minutes from Jon’s appearance has passed and the whole Thalmor force, save for Elenwen, was completely annihilated.

Jon looked at Elenwen and spoke words inaudible to any other but her. She, who has fallen on her knees since her force was all gone and lost all hope, stood back up again and teleported away. Jon didn’t even stop her.

Jon’s eyes then landed on his family starting from Nurina, Hilda, Alina, Jonrad, Tormund, Jenna and Sigurd. Alina smiled at him and walked closer.

"You are in one bloody mess." She said.

"What’s wrong with that?" Jon laughed, "I came to this world screaming and covered in someone else’s blood. I intend to keep doing so from now on."

"Boy! You are sick." Jonrad couldn’t help but complain.

"I am not sick, I am twisted. Sick makes it sound like there is a cure."

The light exchange didn’t fit the bloody scene around them and even Jon wasn’t really free to waste time. He looked ahead and his eyes landed on the remaining heads of the clans and their men as they all threw their weapons to the ground.

They almost lost about half their armies and it seemed that even Brom of Jehanna has managed to capture Orga Stormfist and threw her among the others who surrendered.

Jon walked beside Brom and patted his shoulder then looked to the side and saw his cousin Hafthor riding a mammoth who seemed to have gone through a tough fight.

Xikil flew and landed right beside Jon so the latter jumped on him to find Nefertiti already atop of the Daedric Titan. Odokuro followed on foot and the four mighty beings stood over the captured clan heads and their men.

The air around the four gave a strong vibe but Jon was the center of the power and his image was godly even when he fought the elves and covered himself with their blood in a fit of madness. In the heads of those Nords, his image formed a certain mad warrior who would cover himself in his enemies blood as he would tear through the hordes of elves.

Those Nords, who would never kneel to a Jarl, King or Emperor, knelt down to Jon uttering the name that came to their minds.

"Shor!"

"Shor."

"Hail Shor."

In their heads, Jon was Shor, the Chief God of their Pantheon and the Owner of Sovngarde.

Jon’s face was expressionless and indifferent in the past five minutes but it suddenly twisted and turned into absolute anger.

"YOU BASTERDS! HOW DARE YOU PROFANE THAT HONORABLE NAME?!"

Jon’s anger was genuine. Not even his family saw him this angry before as this was true wrath. He even waved his hand and a mighty force formed beside those Nords slapping them all at the same time.

Odokuro, the manifestation of [Wrath] and his soul fragment grew in size an extra meter and shouted to the heavens with the anger of its master. It was about to go and kill all those insolent and ignorant Nords who used a name very sacred in Jon’s book but Jon held [Wrath] down.

The clans head and warriors realized their mistake and stood back up slowly yet their heads were just looking down and couldn’t help to raise it up against that pressure.

Jon took a deep breath and spoke.

"Son of Jonrad and Hilda the Bloody, with a mane of fire you’d know me.

And ours the wrathful if you dare me, and ours the sharper if you duel me.

And in Saarthal we are the mighty, and in Skyrim no soul to hold me.

O’ people of the clans! O’ People of the schemes and plans. I, Jonhild of Clan Firemane, greet you with blades and shackles."

Jon’s voice echoed through the land from the Attacking clans to the defender forces, from Ulfric to Torygg, from the living to the dead.

Jon’s greeted the people with the tone of the victor but no response was uttered.

Jon’s glare burned them all and made the process breathing so hard.

The one who was enraged as much as Jon was Alina.

"The victor lord is greeting you and you don’t respond! By Kyne, I’d teach you all your place like how the horses are tamed." Alina shouted.

Those who were utterly silent loosened their tongues right away.

"... The Nikkr Clan greets Lord Jonhild."

"We, the Thorn-Shield Clan, greet the noble one Jonhild Firemane."

"The Stormfists of Whiterun greet Jon Dare."

"The Kragr Clan greets the Thane of Winterhold."

Each clan spoke in line one after the other until all the nine clans greeted back.

Jon’s death glare went away as soon as the clans responded.

"O’ People of the clans. I, who bear the lives of people on my shoulders carry two blades. A Blade of Mercy and a Blade of Slaughter.

As for the Blade of Mercy, it has fallen from me on the road so I lost it. As for the Blade of Slaughter, then here it is."

Jon took out [Bloodskal]. The people shivered at the sight of the blood red sword.

"O’ People of the clans. I carry the evil deed with its burden and pay for it back with its equal, and I see the eyes of blunt greed and the necks of false pride among you.

And I see heads that ripened, for it’s time they are culled!

And it’s my right.

And as if I can now see the blood flow between your fallen helms and your drenched beards.

I; O’ people of the clans whose metal is schism and hypocrisy and degeneration; have learned through experience and saw the ultimate purpose as destiny spread its quiver and searched its arrows to find me the hardest and the gravest, so it shot me at you.

Because you have fallen to temptation, delusions and followed the ways of falsehood to the point that you marched with the Altmer to the Sacred Lands of Saarthal wishing to join hands with them and set it aflame like how the Falmer did with Saarthal of Ysgramor.

By the high heavens, I would grind you for that how the stones of the quarry are ground and trample over you how the disobedient beasts are trampled over, and I would educate you with the sword leaving the women widowed and children orphaned.

And I swear on everything that is Sacred and Daedric that I never drop a promise, or let go of a word."

Jon came to a halt as he looked down on those men who stood like the broken trees.

This was the weight of the truth and the triumph of justice. No falsehood was in Jon’s words regarding any of those dark clans’ actions.

Death was lurking towards their necks with merely some words said by a youth. From the beginning till now, they died from inside a dozen times each already.

Some cried from the shame and some cried from the unwillingness to be slaughtered like sheep while the most kept their head low.

"O’ People of the clans, as for the Blade of Slaughter. Then I’ll drop it on those battlements for it’s only to defend what is dear."

Jon turned around and tossed [Bloodskal] high in the air as it landed on the gatehouse of Saarthal to stick itself in the wall carrying a strong hint of Jon’s godly powers.

Jon turned around with a meaningful look in his eyes asking one last question.

"O’ people of the clans. What say you I’d do with you?"

Jon’s words were unexpected, they left a strange impression on everyone who heard them.

None expected those words from any side.

He is the victor and the ultimate one at that, even with the High King present, he can’t deny Jon how to deal with his captives unless a ransom is paid.

What kind of situation was that?

Was he mocking the loser asking him to decide their own fate?

That’s not how things went.

Still, there was a smart girl who looked up to Jon and replied to him after studying his eyes.

"Do us good." Orga Stormfist shouted.

Everyone looked at her not expecting her blunt reply.

Jon looked at Orga with narrowed eyes. She looked at him back with confidence.

"Do us good. You are a good man, from a line of good men."

Orga’s words were so natural and the look in her eyes was confident. It is as if she found out what and who is Jon just by just seeing him up close.

It was a scary ability that made Orga a terrifying judge of characters.

Contrary to everyone’s expectations and as Orga expected, Jon smiled casually.

"Then go." He said, "Save for the clans’ leaders, your are free."