Chapter 157

[AN: The MC does not have the potential bad future happen to him this chapter.]

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After finishing the song, Varrus experienced several more flashes through Syra's past. 

He witnessed: 

A time dilated training montage of Syra swinging her sword for literal days. Posters of him, and scrying orbs of his performances were her constant companion. 

Her first time fighting against the Orcs, and the mass casualties of the Alliance. 

Syra stalking him, only to get rebuffed by Rho'dan. 

Her peaceful hobby of collecting flowers, and pressing them into her diary. 

He even saw from Syra's perspective, the 'playboy' persona in full tilt as he hit on other beautiful Elves, only to have them all reject him without fale. It was incredibly embarrassing to realize just how unpopular he had been within Highborn society. 

Varrus witnessed these things and many more as he chased after the little girl version of Syra that he had met when he first entered her dream. All the while, the floating shadowed orb with an eye, Hermaeus was his constant companion. 

The Daedric Prince, Varrus found, was poor company, and would never volunteer information, nor answer anything unless he was satisfied. In the games, this might seem endearing, but in reality, it was a headache and a half to deal with someone like this. 

He was beginning to understand why so many other Daedric Princes, and people in the Elder Scrolls had such a low opinion of the tentacled horror. Know-it-alls were a pain in the ass no matter the universe. 

After experiencing the ups and downs of Syra's life, Varrus came upon a scene that had him feel some melancholy. 

It was their wedding. 

He hadn't actually transmigrated until later in the day, so from his perspective, he had completely missed this event. 

Watching up close, he saw that from this venue, the ceremony was taking place at the Vandercross Estate in the square. Tons of people were mingling, and it was like any other high class party. 

However, Syra. Syra was radiant. She was smiling almost every second, and her white dress clung to her body, exposing all her curves. 

It was only thanks to their constant cohabitation that he could tell she was a little nervous. Honestly, she was adorable. So often, Syra was a bundle of confidence, and overwhelming strength. Through all the scenes he had witnessed, she always pulled through, no matter how tough or challenging. Syra was maniacal in her obsession with him, and where others would have fallen, she had willed herself to the finish line. This was her big day, but even so, she was giddy, nervous, and perhaps even a little scared at the thought of rejection. 

"Oh Syra." Varrus said aloud to himself in pity. 

He had seen her go through so much, it was heartbreaking. In a way, he was glad he could fill the role of husband. Not only for himself, but for her. 

Shaking his head, Varrus glumly watched on as Syra all but dragged past-Varrus into their bridal chambers after they had made their marriage official. 

"Are you going to sit still and let him have his way with her?" Hermaeus tilted his eye to the side, and questioned. 

"I'm done playing your game, Hermaeus, if you aren't going to help me find Xavius, then just go." Varrus, done with Hermaeus's shit, tiredly waved the eldritch ball away. 

He had gone through dozens of scenarios by this point, and was beginning to feel anxious. Varrua felt as if the more areas of Syra's past became exposed, the closer he was coming to ending this farce. If the annoying know-it-all wasn't going to be helpful, then Varrus wouldn't bother giving it the time of day. 

"Suit yourself. I found little Syra, but it seems you are much more smooth than I had given you credit for. Farewell Dragonborn." Hermaeus simply stated, then faded out of existence. 

'Did he just call me smooth brained?!' Varrus eyed the spot where Hermaeus had been a moment ago. 

'No, wait, that was an ominous warning if I ever heard one. What did he mean by him? Was that not dream-Varrus?!' Varrus thought to himself and took a panicked breath. 

Holding up a hand, Varrus instinctively cast Clairvoyance. 

'Point me Xavius.'

Although the magic was severely subdued, a short blue line directed Varrus towards the bridal chambers. 

That sonuvabitch was planning on defiling his wife!!! 

Varrus saw red, and began to sprint towards his room in a frenzy. 

He tried to Blink there, but moved only a foot forward. 

'Damn, damn, damn!' Varrus thought to himself. 

Every second wasted was an opportunity for that sick bastard. Like hell he would allow this to happen!

However, the party goers began to mob around him, and prevented him from advancing. 

At first, Varrus thought he could just run through them, just like how he couldn't hit Faedra with his magic, he should be able to phase through them as if they were holograms; however, they were solid to the touch! 

Without hesitation, he tried to blast them apart with Illusory Flames, but it was having no effect! 

Varrus ducked under a fireball, and felt its heat, he then sidestepped a sword, and felt the song of steel whoosh past his ear. 

Drawing his own sword, he tried to parry a blade with his own sword, but for his troubles, he caught a glancing blow on his forearm!

His protective enchantments proved fruitless within this dream within a dream, and he was at risk of death! 

Even when Warriors Flame proc'd and began to heal him, it did so at a very slow rate! If he played this incorrectly, he could very easily be mobbed, and murdered by this group of low-level trash! 

The current situation had Varrus feel as if he were fighting with a pool noodle against a 100 guys dressed in plate armor wielding real weapons. 

However, all was not lost. 

Varrus recalled the pain stick he had filched from the dungeon, he thought he could use that to disarm an Elf, then steal their weapon. 

Pulling the stick out of his robes, Varrus eyed the crowd of roughly 100 Highborn, and got to work. 

Running to the side so that he could evade a hail of icicles, Varrus moved towards one of the swordsmen, and flipped over his horizontal slice. In one fluid motion of perfect acrobatics, he jabbed the stick towards the illusory guest's hand, and set it to maximum pain. 

'Please work.' Varrus thought to himself. 

If this weapon failed, then he would truly be lost. 

The tip of the stick glowed a bright white, and when it made contact with the swordsman, he howled in pain, and released his weapon. 

'Success!' Varrus cheered to himself. 

As he came down from his frontflip, Varrus held out his hand, and caught the falling blade. 

Spinning around, he decapitated the apparition, parried a fireball to the side, and swept kicked a chair into an oncoming Arcane blast. 

The explosion from the Arcane energy sent him stumbling backwards, and Varrus found himself next to a table full of cake and silverware. 

Dozens of party guests were advancing towards him, and were seconds away from unleashing low-level, yet in this case, lethal, spells. 

Thinking fast, Varrus picked up a handful of silverware, and applied a bit of telekinesis to them. 

His magic seemed to be limited to within a foot of himself, but that didn't mean it was utterly useless! 

As his spell touched the cutlery, forks & knives left his hands like a shotgun spread. 

One Elf caught a fork to the forehead, and fell down dead as the prongs shook in his forehead. Another collapsed in a puddle of blood as a knife punctured her chest. 

That one action slew a dozen, yet 80% of the crowd remained. 

Ducking behind the table, Varrus used it as cover for a second, and kept sprinting to the side as explosions happened all around him. 

Without his ability to Blink limited, and his armor spells/enchantments not working in this odd realm, closing with the enemy to engage in melee was incredibly risky. 

As someone who was on the lower end of the speed spectrum, it was much more difficult for him to bulldoze his way in for a melee kill. 

Furthermore, not only was his magic restricted, but in this dream within a dream, he felt like he was as strong as when he first transmigrated. Or rather, he had the strength and abilities of a basic Elf. 

It was a situation like this that made Varrus realize that he should always carry a spare set of armor in his inventory at all times. 

Once he was done here, he would have to scavenge Thaladred and Doomhammer's corpses for their adamantium armor! 

But for now, he needed an equalizer. 

Out of all his spells, there was one branch of magic that might be effective in this realm. It was the magic of Akatosh, the Dragon Shouts! 

"Tiid. Klo. Ul!" 

Varrus commanded time to slow down. 

Once he did this, the foes that were bombarding him seemed like they were moving through molasses. 

Confident that he could dodge all of their attacks, Varrus began to cut through the wedding guests like the trash mobs they were. 

Swords and spells fell down all around him in an attempt to end his life, but thanks to the Shout, Varrus easily evaded them. 

Within a couple of minutes, they were all dead. 

As soon as the last body dropped, he exited the state of slowed time, and his Shout went on cooldown. 

Varrus didn't have time to celebrate his victory, as Xavius was still threatening his wife at this very moment! 

"Hurry, catch me Varrus." The little girl version of Syra urged Varrus on, and ran into the mansion ahead of him. 

Heart pounding, and veins filled with fear for his woman, Varrus ran up the stairs to his estate like a man possessed. 

Entering the main lobby, he was stopped by the sight of a devilish woman. 

Clad in black silks, and sauntering down a grand staircase, the sound of high heels echoed within the room. 

Sipping on a goblet of wine, a dream version of Faedra made herself known. 

"Well my dear, you made it. You're so handsome, powerful, creative. Why don't you make me yours? Take me, Varrus Vandercross, and I'll make every woman on Azeroth worship you." Faedra picked an olive out of her glass, and seductively suckled on it, and her finger as she spoke. 

The woman oozed sex, and a sweet smelling perfume dazed Varrus's senses. 

He felt his member thump against his robes, begging to get out, yet he clamped down on such desire. 

Varrus shook his head, and channeled his outrage to break himself from her charm. He even cast Dispel Magic, but it didn't seem that she was casting any spells! Faedra was just that hot. 

As the first Elf he had ever seen upon his transmigration, it would be a lie if he said he didn't find the femme fatale to be attractive. However, the thought of sleeping with his mother-in-law sent a shiver down his spine, and his hardened woody was no more. 

Refusing to let her get into his head, Varrus silently prowled forward, and held his sword in a guarded position. 

"Oh honey, what we could have been. With my connections and spies, it all would have been resolved. All you would have to do is give me those fancy enchanted pieces of gear, and I would have killed all your foes. Meanwhile, you could have sat back in Silvermoon, and basked in the Sunwell while a dozen maidens served you." Faedra tutted as she finally came down the grand entrance's staircase. 

Flickering a dagger in one hand, Faedra then dashed at Varrus with extreme speed. 

Fortunately for him, this was not the real Faedra, as she did not attack from stealth, nor was she using any magic. 

In short, she was a poor man's version of the famed assassin. 

"I don't have time for this shit." Varrus muttered, then Shouted the words to Become Ethereal.

"Feim. Zii. Gron!" 

As soon as Faedra's dagger passed through Varrus's intangible form, he reversed his sword, and plunged it through the back of her skull. 

Without looking back, Varrus ran up the stairs to his bedroom. 

Fortunately, there were no more delays, and he made it in record time. 

Kicking open his door with a bang, Varrus caught sight of 'himself' wearing Xavius's face. The goatfucker had his pants down, and was about to spread Syra's legs! 

Without breaking momentum, Varrus let loose a wordless howl, and charged at the Satyr's back. 

As the tip of his blade was about to make a clean cut across the back of Xavius's neck, he turned and smiled at Varrus. 

With a snap of his finger, the illusory blade he had been wielding disappeared. 

When Varrus's fists carried forth with the momentum, he tried to strangle Xavius, but found much to his shock and horror, they went through him as if he were a hologram! 

"Ha! I am the King of Nightmares, boy! You hold no power here! Now helplessly watch as I dominate your loving wife! Once my magic has penetrated her, she will be mine forever!" Xavius laughed at Varrus, then turned back to Syra. 

Eyes running red, Varrus's breath became hyperventilatory, and he searched his menu desperate for something, anything that would work in this situation! The emotion inducing torture stick would likewise be useless here, as it was just another item of the dream. 

It was then that child Syra dropped down from the ceiling, and landed in front of him.

"You found me!" The girl giggled, then poked Varrus on the chest. 

With a giggle, she then disappeared like a mirage. 

Varrus blinked his eyes, wondering if there had been some purpose to this stupid game of hide-and-go-seek. Looking down to where she had poked him, Varrus felt something sharp digging into his skin. 

Pulling up his robe, Varrus found the gift Syra had bequeathed unto him. It was the weapon of her first murder! 

Eyes going wide, Varrus recalled this very same weapon slaying a Troll earlier in the dream sequence! Yet this was the real thing. One imbued with all of Syra's complex emotions! 

"Ha ha ha! You are mine Syra!" Xavius laughed uproariously as he thrust his hips forward. 

Xavius was about to do the unspeakable, but the flash of steel rang true, and his blood soaked member flew into the air. 

"Eeee-ahhhh!" Xavius squealed, and recoiled in pained shock. 

Varrus didn't let up for a moment, and worked the dagger like a madman. 

He plucked out the Satyr's eyes, removed his limbs. then cut off his balls, and shoved them down his throat. 

Mimicking the torture skills of his guards, Varrus tried his best to prolong the Satyr's punishment, but after only half an hour, the torment came to an end. 

Caked in blood, and looking somewhat crazy, Varrus spat on Xavius as this hated enemy finally died. 

The ping of a Soul Gem entered his notifications, and the world exploded with color as Varrus exited Syra's dream.