Warriors Without Fear
"You're confused, aren't you? I'd bet I'm the strangest thing you've ever faced," said Herpo with his twisted smile, that calm insanity that didn't blink or tremble. He rose without moving a single muscle. He didn't walk. He simply floated, lifting into the air like a weightless shadow.
"No. Not even close," Einar replied calmly.
The daedric swords vanished from his hands, replaced by a massive crimson greatsword that throbbed as if it had a heart of its own. Its blade burned with ancient energy, soaked in blood and war.
"Hahaha... you really are a man of few words when you fight," mocked Herpo, slamming his staff against the ground several times. A dark pulse spread beneath the earth like a disease, and after a few seconds, skeletons of animals, humans, and unrecognizable horrors began to emerge, tearing through the soil.
Einar didn't move. He didn't even look at them. As if they weren't even worth his attention.
With a simple sideways slash, his blade unleashed a wave of red energy that tore through the battlefield like a divine scythe. Herpo took the blow directly, his body cleanly sliced in half... but he reformed instantly, as if made of black, viscous sludge.
"You'll have to try much harder. Many have tried. None even came close," said Herpo, raising his wand. From it, a torrent of black magic burst forth, flooding the area.
Einar answered with a descending strike, splitting the attack in two. Even so, the nearby trees began to wither, cracking and turning to dust from the corruption touching them.
But Einar didn't stop.
He vanished from sight for an instant and reappeared wielding a warhammer forged from dragon bone, covered in glowing electric runes. He brought it down on Herpo with brutal force, releasing lightning that annihilated the nearby skeletons. Herpo's body once again fell apart, turning into that black liquid mass that spread like a plague. But in a blink, it condensed into a small black sphere that launched a dark spear straight toward Einar's face.
He merely tilted his head, and the spear grazed past him. The resulting explosion shook the earth behind him, raising fire and debris.
Herpo reformed once more, still smiling, and lifted his wand. The ground beneath Einar's feet rose with jagged stone spikes—but Einar was no longer there. He had appeared right in front of his enemy, now wielding two daggers as black as night.
In a single instant, dozens of slashes tore through Herpo's body with surgical precision. Yet he reassembled once more, his rotten flesh regenerating as his wand unleashed another torrent of black fire.
Einar deflected the blast with a mere flick of his hand, redirecting the flames toward the approaching skeletons. The fire devoured them, but didn't stop there—it began spreading at terrifying speed, as if it intended to consume everything in its path.
"STRUN BAH QO!"
The Dragonborn's shout thundered through the air, and the sky answered with a torrential downpour. Not a lightning storm… but a cleansing curtain of rain that descended to extinguish the flames before they could engulf the entire forest.
Einar switched weapons again: a sacred war axe, Wulbrath. He swung it to push Herpo away from the area, still too close to Harry. With a brutal blow to the chest, he launched him like a ragdoll, dragging him through the air deep into the woods.
The impact shattered several trees, but even while flying, Herpo touched the trunks with his wand. One by one, the trees began to twist into grotesque shapes. From among them, two colossal tree golems emerged.
Einar landed on the ground, but moved through the forest with feral agility, dodging the golems' massive blows by slipping through the branches as if the forest itself obeyed him.
The Bloodskal Blade appeared in his hands, and with a quick spin, he unleashed two horizontal slashes that cleaved the golems in half.
"GAAAAAH!" screamed Herpo, and a new black flood surged toward Einar… who passed through it as if it were nothing. In his hands now was Volendrung, the legendary hammer, and he brought it down with divine fury. Herpo's body once again exploded across the field, utterly destroyed.
The black liquid began to reform once more, his mocking laughter now more unstable, echoing through the trees.
"Hahahaha! You can't do anything… can you? Nothing! Why don't you give up? You're strong… but strength alone isn't enough. I'm immortal!" he screamed, raising both hands.
The trees trembled. New golems began to emerge.
But then, a golden arrow streaked across the sky and pierced Herpo's leg. A sharp hiss erupted on contact, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. For the first time, Herpo looked down in fear.
"AAAH!" he roared, yanking the arrow from his leg. This time, the wound didn't heal. Or at least, not at its usual pace. Something was stopping it.
Pale-faced, he looked up toward Einar… who stood watching him with total calm.
A completely golden bow rested in his hands. Sacred. Incorruptible. As if its mere existence denied all impurity. And in his other hand, an ancient arrow with a tip that glowed as if the sun itself lived within it.
Einar's armor had changed too. No longer demonic or wild. It was smooth, immaculate, and platinum-colored. The armor of a divine sentinel.
It was Auriel's Bow.
The arrow, a Sunhallowed Elven Arrow.
The armor, the sacred Stendarr's Vigilant Armor.
Each piece… crafted to eradicate the impure.
Einar hadn't worn that set since the days of Dawnguard or Castle Volkihar, when he hunted something far worse.
From the beginning, Einar had been testing every weapon, every spell, every tactic... searching for the one thing that could truly harm Herpo. When he noticed that even the aura of Stendarr burned his enemy slightly, he knew he was close.
But the truth was...
He was enjoying himself.
He wanted to see what would finally hurt the one who thought himself immortal.
"W-what is that thing?" screamed Herpo for the first time without his smile. Only fear remained.
"Why should I tell you?" Einar replied, calmly aiming the arrow at him, like a god deciding whether or not it was worth firing.
Herpo raised his wand to teleport away, using Apparition to escape… but before he could vanish, something invisible grabbed his ankle. A trap.
Three golden arrows shot out at once from Einar's bow, slicing through the air like rays of justice and piercing Herpo's chest.
"Ah…" Herpo gasped in pain.
The arrows began to burn his flesh with a sacred glow. He raised his wand one last time… but a fourth arrow struck him squarely in the forehead.
His body collapsed instantly, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Einar stared at him in silence for a moment. If one looked closely, a small wand could be seen hidden beneath the sleeve of his left arm. It was the one he had used to conjure the trap that caught Herpo's leg when he tried to flee.
Then, a distant rumble echoed through the air.
The sound of an explosion. It came from Harry's direction.
Einar slowly turned his head toward the blast, then glanced once more at Herpo's motionless body… and without hesitation, turned around and vanished in a single leap, heading straight into the fray.
The moment Einar left, the handle of Herpo's wand—still clutched in his lifeless fingers—began to glow with a shadowy light. A black smoke oozed out, slithering toward the body like a living specter. The arrows were being pushed out… slowly. Too slowly. The body wasn't regenerating like before, but it was trying. His soul… was trying to return.
The Horcrux hidden inside the wand.
The true immortality of the man who created them all.
But then, an old, bony hand—blackened by corruption—grasped the wand.
Without a word, blue fire burst from the stranger's fingers, consuming the black smoke, burning the very essence of the soul that was trying to crawl back in.
A deafening scream filled the forest.
An ancient, twisted, agonized voice.
The man's face couldn't be seen…
But his smile was there.
Huge. Mad. Joyful.
…
Einar arrived just in time to see Harry raise his sword. The battlefield was covered in runes of ice, fire, and lightning. A Frost Atronach was crushing the remains of a fiery serpent, while the Fire Atronach—now out of control—spewed flames in all directions… Voldemort included.
Harry darted through the chaos, dodging fire, his spectral sword in one hand and wand in the other.
Voldemort, desperate, hurled multiple Avada Kedavra curses at the boy, but Harry barely flinched. He aimed his wand at the ground beneath his feet.
The earth exploded.
The blast launched him straight toward his enemy, though his feet bled slightly upon landing. The sword in his hand gleamed. It was just about to pierce Voldemort's chest...
But then Voldemort raised both hands.
And time… stopped.
Harry froze in midair, suspended in an eternal instant. His muscles strained against the paralysis, but his gaze didn't waver.
Voldemort smiled, believing victory was his. His wand slowly lifted, the whole scene unfolding in slow motion...
And just as it pointed at the boy's heart, the tip of Harry's wand—still aimed at him—flared with light.
A silver stag burst forth violently, slamming into Voldemort and breaking his focus.
Harry regained control.
Without wasting a second, he twisted his body and drove the sword once more toward his enemy—but Voldemort vanished instantly, reappearing several meters away in a flash of rage and something else...
Fear?
Every step he took now was measured, cautious, as if he expected the ground beneath him to explode. And he wasn't entirely wrong. Harry's fire and ice golems were relentlessly attacking—not to defeat him, but to keep him distracted.
Everything felt like one massive trap.
And the boy's arrogant words only added to his frustration.
"I misjudged you..." Voldemort murmured, his voice low and dark. "You're no Gryffindor. You're the most Slytherin thing I've ever seen… deceit, traps, strategy..."
"Well… the Sorting Hat did say I could've been Slytherin," Harry replied, noticeably calmer now. "But I don't like damp, dark places. Especially not when the Head of House looks like a bat."
Truthfully, ever since he had been accepted—if only briefly—among Einar's children and disciples, something in him had changed. They had corrupted him. Or rather, they had opened his eyes.
That a true battle isn't real…
Unless it's enjoyed until the very end.
Even if it means dying.
Because to them, dying in battle is an honor.
A door to Sovngarde.
Where the heroes summoned by Einar continue to fight together… forever.
That's why they no longer fear death.
Because of Einar.
Because of an ability far too broken.
"Why don't we finish this, Tom? You're alone. All those who followed you—when they saw how easily your horrors were destroyed—they fled. Again. What is this, the second time? Third? Another betrayal?"
Harry took another step forward, placing a hand behind his back, subtly casting new traps across the field.
"You're alone. And you're about to die. Not even your soul fragments are going to save you now. You should've fled to some remote island and lived as a crazy old hermit. You might've lasted longer that way."
Avento had taught him how to lay traps.
Harry had taught him Expecto Patronum.
And it was obvious that Avento had been raised by Einar. The same tactical mind. The same grin before the storm. Harry still felt like he had much to learn from the other Children of the Storm.
"A little power and it goes straight to your head, boy… Remember who I am!"
"I do. Tom Marvolo Riddle."
In that moment, Harry stepped onto a fire rune, and it exploded beneath him—propelling him like a projectile toward Voldemort. Unlike Einar, he didn't have brute strength in his legs. He had to use his traps to move at high speed when fighting up close.
Voldemort screamed in pure rage upon hearing that name he hated with every fiber of his being.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!"
The ground beneath him morphed into a rising wave of stone spikes, ready to impale Harry.