“The offer is on the table, Madgod.  Have your fun and come back to us.  The Daedric circle isn’t complete without us all.  The planes of Oblivion wane after Dagon’s mortal failure.”  The silver-armored demon had said, stepping back into the blue portal that had brought him to the throne room.

“If I’m not back by the end of the year, give my Champion a call.  I think he loves Madness just like I do.”  The Madgod had laughed, rejecting the offer to return to his own world.  At the time, it had felt like the best course of action.  After all, he had just conquered a new world all for himself.

I’m an equal-opportunity employer, Discord.  If you kill me, I let you rule my realm!  He had thought with an unabated mockery; the only creature that could have stopped him was lying in dying agony on the ground before him.

It had been less than a week.  Five days, to be exact.  And, in that short of a time, his magic had all but vanished.  He had used the majority of it to get as far as he was, and it had been a miracle he had succeeded.  Without a vessel to channel it, the Madgod’s Madness left him to rot in the realm of ponies.

Even the now-dying Sheogorath had to laugh at the irony of the entire situation.  As he sat on his new throne, red and blue flames scattered about the hall, he stared longingly at the door that his opponents had charged through with fiery determination.  With a sigh, he pointed his staff at the solid metal archway, hoping to get some response from it.

“Even when I win, I lose…” he groaned under his breath.

Then, with a laugh, he cheered, “All a part of the game, I suppose!  I knew the risks of using my magic, and by the gods was it worth it!”  His staff fell from his hands and he flinched in pain.  “It’s not like I wasn’t already dead before I got here.  This place just gave me an extra spark.”

“My, aren’t you a funny little biped?” Discord’s voice rang out in his head, a memory from their first meeting a week ago.  They had met on the topic of nonsense, and they had agreed, for a time.

Then I became ambitious!  I wanted to gain power here in this place!  I needed his body to do that, and look how it ended up!

His fist had hit the arm of the throne before he’d even realized it.  Staring down at the ground, he could see his reflection in the scuffed marble where his fellow beast of nonsense had finally stopped squirming.  His eyes were empty, lifeless, and his face was thin.  His hair had lost its silver sheen.

He was dying.  No, it was more accurate to say that his magic was dying.  Perhaps not dying, more like leaving him.  It was betraying him.  He was betrayed by himself!  How mysterious!

His thoughts bounced around more than they had the last few days.  The more of his magic that drained from him, the more he returned to his normal self, before the final Greymarch.  He was becoming Sheogorath again, the Ex-Prince of Madness, the Ex-Lord of the Shivering Isles.  Before long, those titles would mean nothing.  His power would mean nothing.  This world would mean nothing.

And from the emptiness of his mind, a voice called out.  It was familiar, brotherly, with a hint of menacing mockery.

“And so the web unwinds itself.”

Web, eh?  Just like her…  Sheogorath’s lips curled into a smile as a black cloud of smoke manifested itself at the far end of the throne room.  With a round sheet of energy, the cloud fused with the door and a single strand of silk shot toward him.

“All lives are tied together by the web, be they men or equines.  With the death of your vessels, you’ve condemned yourself.”  A slim figure stepped out from the portal of black, pale and beautiful.  Four arms swirled through the air, silk strands following them.

Sheogorath couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his brother.  “The Webspinner, the Spider God…  Mephala, my brother!  What brings you to my little corner of paradise?”  He attempted to rise from his throne, only to be shoved back down by the silk resting on his shoulder.  Such a trivial barrier, and yet he couldn’t cross it.

The figure spoke with feminine authority, “It was always going to end this way, for you at least.  All threads lead to the same destination, and yours has always been this death.  Though, in another time and place, it would have been prolonged by quite a while…”  Mephala approached the throne with grace as her arms spun the webs of silk.

“Ah, but would that road have been as fun?!  I prefer quality over quantity, thank you very much, brother!” Sheogorath laughed.

“Your jokes are meaningless, brother,” Mephala snapped.  “As your magic drains, it returns to the Shivering Isles, waiting for the one who might replace you someday.”

“My champion…”

“Your champion, indeed.  It sits on your throne, awaiting his return, guarded by your chamberlain.  Thus it was always meant to be.”

“My death creates a new Madgod.  Madness is his to control now.  They grow up so fast, eh, Mephi!”  With a clap of his hands, the Madgod attempted to stand up, only to find his legs unwilling to respond.

Mephala was at the throne, a smug grin on her face.  She chuckled, “Your self-murder, and the murder of those who would stop you, will only lead to further murders down the road.  Kings and knights, mages and slaves.  Many will meet their fates at the hands of your replacement.  Your death will be the final string in the web of your champion’s fate.”  The web she had been spinning was now full, silver and beautiful.  It fell from her hands, landing over her brother like a blanket.

As it rested upon him, peace washed over the mad man.  He smiled peacefully, his mind clearing ever so slightly.  “I never pictured you as the philosophical type, Mephala.  Do you spin more webs than simply spiders?”  His eyes closed slowly as he spoke, the color draining from his body.  The flames along the hall choked out, the smoke from each flooding into the black portal.

“As I always have, brother.  Sleep now, and welcome your fate.  Dream of what could have been as you fade from life.”  

“Dreams belong to Vaermina, I’m afraid.  I do not…dream.”

His voice fell silent as he continued.  His mouth became dry.  His body relaxed, and his senses fell numb.  The last bit of magical energy drained from his lips, joining its other pieces in the black portal.

For a brief moment, the image of the draconequus appeared before him.  He and the beast stood side by side, a dark black shadow looming over them.  Their eyes were filled with determination and hatred, and a single wound graced his face.

What could have been… his final thought called out.