Mirmulnir
Whiterun
The Dragon hovered in the air, the penumbral shadow of his wings casting the districts where most of the fighting was taking place in darkness. Mirmulnir breathed in, spoke using the Voice of his kind: "Yool!"
And thunder rang, like the impact of a dimensional hammer against the drum of the world.
"Toor Shul!"
A vortex of flame came down from Mirmulnir's open maw. It coalesced as it went down, into something almost resembling a globe or ball with a plasmatic center, which rapidly cooled, forming a lump of superheated obsidian coal. The boulder impacted the earth and like shrapnel, its fragments rained down, spreading the heat to the buildings and streets. As if steered through some mystical beckoning, the fires grew with supernatural alacrity, spreading, almost as if sentiently possessed, to consume life and to destroy.
Mirmulnir then rotated back around, in reaction to the words spoken from the maw of a human. The Dragon looked briefly concerned and worried, before hatred overtook its features. However, before it could strike out against the Dragonborn, a man in black armor attacked him, and Mirmulnir himself was assailed by a wizardess of Destruction Magic; a bolt of lightning struck his scale, its static backwash neatly bouncing off, but leaving his wing shocked enough that he stalled in the air briefly, as he picked up the flapping to lift himself back up before he could crash.
Now disoriented and enraged doubly, Mirmulnir turned himself to track the accursed sorceress as he prepared to Shout again.
Before he could, the Dragonborn's voice resounded against his own, across the skies. Mirmulnir recognized the words.
The Dragon attempted to save himself; "Wul-" Before he could even finish the first word of the Whirlwind Sprint and dash across the skies of Skyrim to safety, the Dragonborn's Shout crept into Mirmulnir's awareness like dark miasma of parasitic control.
He fought and faltered in his flight, his maw opening; not to Shout, but to release a bone-chilling scream of horror and agony.
He was vulnerable, then. Too vulnerable, fighting for survival. Azula sped on the twin chariot of her blue flames, and clamping down on the opportunity in front of her like a bear-trap with teeth forged in the deepest fires, she condensed a pair of flames into daggers using her Firebending. Mirmulnir could barely twist his neck around to snap at her, but even that failed, and only served to expose him further, as Azula cut through his neck, pulverizing and cauterizing draconic flesh with little resistance; like a buzzsaw steadily making its way through a thin wooden panel. The Dragon was dead in seconds, its grandiose existence finished through the prowess of his slayer and the opening made by the Dragonborn.
And five seconds later, Mirmulnir's corpse thudded against the cobbled path of the Whiterun Marketplace in the Winds District with a loud banging of his heavy body and scale. His severed head landed only several feet away, face twisted in grief and shock as much as a Dragon's expression could be read through human comprehension.
Atop its skull, Azula balanced herself, blanketed by the flames she left behind on launch and by the Dragon she slew.
In moments, however, she was forced to get off, as Mirmulnir's scales started to glow and visibly melt and vaporize in front of her very eyes, as if a timelapse of its decomposition was taking place. In seconds, there was nothing but its heavy skeleton, collapsed on the market.
And from that skeleton, flowing like a strand of coruscating indescribable power, the Dovahsil rose into the air, then snapped down and flew towards the nearest Dragonborn, pulled to the natural gravitation of the Dovahkiin's power.
Seizing the opportunity of his exposure, Darth Vader raised his hand and pressed down with the Force on Ysmir's mind. The Dragonborn Emperor only had the opportunity to grunt once before the sudden telepathic pressure caused him to black out.
The Sith Lord promptly slung the unconscious body over his shoulder and stood tall, speaking across the battlefield to Azula, voice augmented with his helmet's filter and the Force itself.
"We have what we came for," Vader said placidly. "Retreat."
With those words, the Sith Lord jumped for the parapet of the walls one last time, intending to use them as the slingshot to deliver him further down the plains. However, the moment his feet touched the stone, a number of actinic-blue runes manifested underneath.
Vader sensed danger a moment too late in his flight, unable to recover or change direction. He blasted the Force directly underneath himself, attempting to stall and pull back, but the runes exploded with blazing lightning and shocked him further.
A Dark Elf warrior stepped from a shadow and swung a spear at the Dark Lord's neck, but this time, Vader evaded and swung his lightsaber, managing to use the Force to throw the sudden assailant down the wall and to the Plains District.
Vader leaped away with Ysmir on his shoulder, then; his breathing growing increasingly more erratic. His suit's interior display beeped once in warning that it had sustained near-critical damage. If he didn't repair it soon, there would be consequences. It would be something to take care of on their way back.
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