1 Hey you! You're Finally Awake--!

Julian awoke, groggy from the sudden transfer of where he'd just been. The first thing he saw wasn't what he was expecting but he could find it in him to be too surprised.

He would've been if he hadn't just been briefed by a Godly Being about where he was going.

A short stocky man dressed in leather armor, and looking straight out of a Roman history book on warfare, was in the motion of slapping me. Rearing his hand back he threw out a blurry slap - or at least it should've been blurry. And yet, to my eyes, the slap was moving in slow motion.

Guess that blessing is really kicking in. Not to mention the Vampirism.

Not one to be a masochist, I leaned my head back and the slap sailed harmlessly passed my face - my perception of time returned to normal after the 'attack' had passed, so I assumed it was only activated on the account that my subconscious deemed that slap dangerous or an annoyance. Probably the latter.

"I'm awake," I said, looking around and seeing the familiar walls of a soon-to-be burned down village. I'd remember it even with how realistic it now looked - even with the amount of Imperial soldiers being triple of what was in the game.

This place was Helgen.

I caught sight of the crowd of - mainly - Nords and noticed the blue they were wearing. One among them gave off a specific vibe. He was tall, but not as tall as some of the others in the group. He was built well, with broad shoulders, but I could see more imposing specimens among the crowd. And yet...he was definitely the most dangerous. His mouth was gagged, his blond hair dirty and matted but his blue eyes were alight with determination and conviction.

Ulfric Stormcloak. Without a doubt it was him. The man who murdered the High King with The Voice. Now, he's the political leader of a group of racists.

Back to my own problems, however, the Imperial didn't seem happy with me speaking as he reared back for another attempt. Only for something to save both himself from the embarrassment of me dodging his attacks twice and sparing me from having to move.

"He's awake, Legionnaire," came a stern voice with the classic Nord accent and I looked to the right and off the cart where a brown-haired man with rather average looks was stood, dressed in a similar fashion to the Imperial with a slapping fetish - but his shoulders were covered in chainmail. A sign of his rank in the Imperial Army, I assume.

If not and it was meant for defense, it was a stupid place to put chainmail. Only the top of the shoulders? Not his chest or stomach? Weird flex but okay, Imperials.

Taking this as my turn to actually do something, I stood up and--woah, I'm fucking massive. Easily over two meters tall - 6'7"? 6'8" maybe? I absolutely tower over this Imperial in front of me. Goddamn, I'm pretty sure the only reason he's not pissing himself is because I'm tied up in binds.

I gained my composure pretty quickly - I knew I would be tall after what I asked for but I was allowed to be surprised, you know? - and took a step toward the edge of the cart.

The wood creaked under my foot, my weight no doubt matching or maybe even exceeding my imposing height. It would make sense...my musculature is off the goddamn scale right now. Despite being so compact, my muscles are pretty big and brawny just because of my overall body size. Safe to say a lot of my weight comes from my muscles and how much of them I have. An absurd amount.

...Then again, after knowing what I am, it ain't that surprising.

Ignoring the groaning and creaking of the wood, I hopped off the cart and onto the stone below. A massive thud rang throughout the eerily quiet courtyard filled with Imperials and the inhabitants of Helgen, with more than a few looking toward me.

I was half-expecting the stone to crack or something but I was given some solace in the fact that I wasn't THAT heavy, even when built like a wall of muscle.

Walking over to the group of Stormcloaks in nothing but the rags I was in, I caught a few glances looking my way but I ignored them for the most part.

Instead I turned my thoughts inward and began thinking about the situation.

I'd been transmigrated. By a being who called themselves Chaos, nonetheless. She/he/it(?) told me that I was needed to solve a problem, and when asked what the problem was, told me that I'd know it when I saw it. Helpful? Not so much. But they did give me a hand and even apologized for the lack of answers.

What was the hand they lent? They basically gave me a character creator screen. I went about making my character for the world they were sending me to - the Elder Scrolls. Or Nirn. Tamriel, if you wanna get technical. Skyrim, if you wanna get specific.

So, I went about making a character.

Set my race to Nord/Orc Hybrid - both phenomenally strong races. Races focused on combat and martial prowess. I set the genetics to be as predisposed to combat and fighting as I could, made sure I looked more Nord than Orc without lessening the race's effect on my body, and then moved onto something else - Bloodlines. I went for something simple. Vampire. More specifically, Clan Quarra, a clan of Vampires known for their physical strength and endurance plus their total lack of fear. They're actually considered the most savage of Vampire bloodlines.

Can you see where I was going with this? A perfect hybrid between two physically strong races, stronger than either, and then infected with a type of Vampirism that gifts even higher physical ability - What do you get? You get a physical beast, that's what.

See, Vampirism takes what's there and enhances it with it's unique traits. Quarra Vampires get a physical boost, but it differs depending on your physical quality prior to being infected.

So, if a High Elf was infected, they would see an increase in physical strength but it'd be nothing compared to what a Nord experienced.

After that, I went through and made my appearance. I kept everything the same except the height (which I couldn't put below 200cm) and the weight (which was also similarly locked above a certain number). My hair was black, my eyes were blue and my skin color was a little rosier than just deathly pale. Pale even for a Nord, I guess you could say. I changed my features a little to make myself a little more of a looker and even gave my dick and balls an upgrade in size. It was fifteen minutes well spent.

Then I put every available point I was given into hand-to-hand combat, heavy armor usage, alteration magic and archery. The former because I was already a trained martial artist and loved fighting shit with my hands and the latter because I'd always wanted to know how to shoot a bow. Just seemed cool. And what was the use of being a mini-Giant if I didn't take advantage of my strength? With my preternatural strength, I'd no doubt be able to wear the heaviest armor like it was nothing.

Alteration wasn't THAT useful and that's why I put the least amount of points into it. All I wanted was the ability to use the Flesh spells. You know, Oakflesh, Stoneflesh, Ironflesh, etc, etc. It'd boost my defense when I needed it. Also, some of the perks I could get from it would raise my magic resistance and that would be very needed if I wanted to be a brawler-type character.

Once I'd put my points into those four things, I picked my class. Something that gave me perks and certain abilities at certain levels (levels I get through killing stuff and completing quests) - and guess what? Because I'm technically two races in one body...Yep, I get two classes. I went all out and went with Brute (a type of fighter that is extremely proficient in using their natural strength to destroy their opposition) and Juggernaut (a subclass of Tank which is focused on unarmed damage and an ungodly amount of tankiness that practically turns them into a fortress of muscle).

...What? I'm taking every chance I can get to turn myself into some sort of monster. I'm about to go into a world filled with Dragons, Giants, the Undead and a whole itinerary of terrible monsters that could mess up the average person.

So, you can bet your ass I was gonna make myself OP.

After this, Chaos gave me it's blessing which caused both my races and bloodline to evolve - or mutate, in regards to the latter.

My race changed to High Nord/High Orc Hybrid. Basically super Nord and super Orc. Better versions of the normal variants who are even better at what the normal variants are already quite good at. My bloodline, however, gained the Noxiphilic Sanguivoria mutation which would allow me to survive in sunlight without being damaged and would even allow me to be empowered at night.

Basically, my powers were just put on steroids after gaining Chaos' blessing.

Then I was off and sent to Skyrim, only to wake up to a Imperial soldier rearing up to slap me across the face. The rest is history, as you've read.

As I thought through all of this, Hadvar and the bitchy Imperial Captain had been calling forth the members of the group I was misunderstood as being a part of, starting with Ulfric Stormcloak, then the blond Ralof and then the horse thief Lokir of Rorikstead. Like in the original series, he rushed off and got shot by an arrow from an Imperial archer.

"Wait...you there," Hadvar called to me, gesturing me over, "Step forward. Who are you?" he asked and looked down at the list he was holding, squinting as his brown eyes scanned the parchment for a description that matched my appearance.

He wasn't going to find one.

"You can call me Julian," I intoned, my voice flat and unenthused - do you have any idea how many times I'd been through this in the games? Just because it was real life didn't mean this character creator intro was anymore bearable, "I'm a Nord."

And an Orc. Oh, nevermind, I'm actually a more advanced species that mixes the two of them. Ah, I forgot to mention that I'm the equivalent of what that product would be if it took the Super Soldier Serum from the MCU. Don't forget that I'm a Vampire who's a master martial artist and an archer who can no doubt shoot a gnat off a cow's ass as well.

...You know, it really seems like a mouthful when I put it like that--

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman," Hadvar looked over at me with sincere pity and I was a bit taken aback because it really showed he wasn't a game character. His animations and voice acting were fine in the game but they never showed this much emotion before. Kinda freaky, honestly.

Still, I shrugged and decided not to answer, instead looking around at the Imperial soldiers and archers surrounding us. If Alduin didn't show up, I'd probably need to break out on my own. It'd cause a few problems for me, but I don't wanna check out my healing factor's ability to grow back head's lost via execution.

Hadvar turned to his bitchy Captain and gave a frown, "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list," his voice filled with an unspoken plea to let me off the hook.

"Forget the list," the dark-skinned woman said, a stern frown seemingly permanently etched into her face and cemented with the rest of her hard-as-stone facial features, "He goes to the block like the rest of them," she scoffed and despite being a real short stack, she gave off the impression that she was looking down on me. What an annoying bitch. I'm gonna go with Ralof just so I can personally remove her head--Okay, what the fuck were those thoughts?

Pushing the homicidal thoughts aside for a second, I was brought out of my own contemplation by Hadvar continuing to speak, "I'm sorry. At least you'll get to die in your homeland, kinsman," he spoke, again with a sobering amount of sympathy and shame.

This wasn't a game. The wind felt a tiny bit more chilly as it crept up my back at this final realization.

I gave a nod before following the Captain over to where General Tullius and the headsman were waiting. Alongside a Priestess of Arkay. Not to mention the massive group of Stormcloaks.

Things went as expected, with General Tullius stepping up to Ulfric, the shorter Imperial staring up at the blond Jarl, "Ulfric Stormcloak," the General addressed him, an annoyance to his tone, like saying the same was something that dirtied his mouth, "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." All he got in reply was a grunt from the gagged Ulfric but that didn't seem to deter the Imperial, "You started this war. Plunged all of Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

...A bit self-righteous and very holier-than-thou. But what can you expect from a soldier? Especially an Imperial. They're all a bit up their own arse to some extent.

Roaring interrupted the end of the patriotic speech, the sound coming from far away but easily echoing down the mountains and into everyone's ears.

Everyone looked around and murmuring was quickly becoming commonplace among the soldiers and Stormcloak alike. Tullius scowled at this and the Captain gave a stern glare to some archers near her who were looking to the mountain with squinting eyes.

"Get on with it, Captain," Tullius seemed annoyed he could ramble on but regardless, he turned to the Captain and gave the order.

The Captain had the short look of a smile on her face at the General's attention before it disappeared for the scowl that settled much more naturally on her face, "Yes, General Tullius," she nodded before turning to the silent Priestess, "Give them their last rites."

The Priestess nodded and stepped forward, "As we commend your souls to the Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved--" she was cut off, like in the game, by a rather cocky Stormcloak who probably wanted to look tough in front of all his pals.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with--" he wanted to walk forward but I put my bound hands on his shoulder. He looked to me and raised an eyebrow, but I instead looked to the Priestess.

Smiling, I spoke up, "Ignore him. I'd quite like my last rites," I lied, knowing I didn't need them but I'd rather stall for time then let stuff go by, "Don't forget to include Talos in those rites though, sweetheart. Don't you think so, kinsmen?" I spoke up a little louder, looking around at the Stormcloaks who all looked at me with either a grin or full-blown smile. Some even gave a chuckle at what I said.

Well, everyone but the guy I stopped. He seemed annoyed I'd taken his spotlight. Still, I didn't care too much for his glare. I'd extended his life just a little.

He might even survive the attack, who knows. A little good can go a long way.

The surrounding Imperials had the opposite reactions, however, and cast glares at me. Though I did notice a few of them gave a glance of respect my way. I noticed that all these people were definitely Nords. Tall, fair-skinned and built like a weightlifter - it was quite easy to spot a Nord among Imperials and a few Wood and Dark Elves.

No doubt these Nords are secret Talos worshippers. Religion always finds a way, even if you make it illegal. Most things find a way when you specifically say 'You can't do this!'. Reverse psychology and all that stuff.

Obviously the Thalmor didn't get the memo. Well, they really only did banned Talos worship to cause discourse throughout Skyrim but that's a topic for another day.

The Priestess ignored me for the most part but continued with the last rites, going for all the religious bullshit that she no doubt fully believed. Don't get me wrong, the Divines exist in this world. But I'm, like, 90% sure they couldn't give less of a shit about mortals. They're better than the Daedric Princes but that isn't really all that hard, is it? A tale as old as time; Gods not caring about the people who worship them. Can't blame 'em though. I'd definitely ignore humanity if I was a God.

Towards the end of the rites, the roar echoed down the mountainside once again, but louder. And much, much closer.

This roar shook the inside of my chest and filled me with an instinctive kind of dread.

I pulled at my binds a little bit, snapping some of the weaker bands of leather while still keeping the ruse up that I was completely and utterly helplessly bound up. I needed to be ready to react when Alduin got here - who knows if he won't just blast us to high hell and go off the script.

As soon as he landed, I needed to free and fucking out of here.

It seemed it wouldn't take very long for that reality to come about, however, as General Tullius looked to the mountain range just in time to see a flying black dot come over the top of it, "What in Oblivion is that?!" he gave a cry, the worry in his voice echoing throughout the courtyard and spurring his soldiers into action.

"Sentries, what do you see?!" the Captain shouted out, archers looking up into the sky and toward the black dot that was getting closer and closer at a disturbing pace.

Whether it was because of my Vampirism or because of my enhanced Hybrid status, but I could clearly see what the black dot was. Even from all the way down here. My eyes clearly saw the Dragon, covered in sharp spikes and thick black scales and hide. Red eyes bore down on Helgen and by proxy myself, filled with a manic fury as the Dragon's two gigantic wings flapped, crushing the air into submission as it kept itself in the air through raw power alone.

There was no grace to how it moved. No mercy. It wanted to stay afloat...so it made it so.

It dived towards us and one of the Wood Elf sentries called out, "Incoming! Whatever it is, it's coming in hard and quick!" they yelled but it wouldn't help. By the time anyone reacted to the call, the black Dragon had already landed atop the tower that overlooked Helgen and the courtyard we were all in.

Alduin.

Those same eyes looked down at us all like ants and time seemed to pause as silence rained for but a few more moments. Then, he reared his spikey and horn-covered head, and roared to the sky, foreign words burning through the air and echoing through my mind.

The sky turned orange and then small meteors began to rain down from the heavens. That was enough for me to know my chance had come.

The Imperials burst into action, firing arrows at the mighty dark Dragon. Some even firing spells of fire, lightning or ice at him.

All of the attacks bounced off his black armor-like scales.

...Well, time to escape.