Sær awoke to the feeling of rough, inhuman hands dragging him along a cold stone floor. A gate opens on rusty hinges, and he is flung bodily into a cold, damp cell, his bare skin scraping against the floor.

looking around to get his bearings, Sær groans upon realizing that his equipment- Estus, armor, blades, and smallclothes- are gone. He is wearing naught but tattered trousers and a tattered robe. The upper part of the robe has degraded to mere strips of cloth, hanging down to his legs and leaving his torso bare.

"DAMN IT!" Sær bashes the ground with his fist. He looks around the cage, his face contorted with fury. To let himself get distracted and put priscilla in danger...

Crunch.

Sær looks down. Bones litter the ground, clad in robes, smallclothes, and leather, all as degraded as his. A fair few of them seem to be clerics... An idea starts to form in Sær's mind. He quickly sets to work.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I am not one of your experiments, you freak! Release me!"

Priscilla's command is ignored by her father, who shuffles about his study, muttering under his breath. "Regrowth occurs at twice the normal rate in crossbreeds... With a regrowth formula, harvesting time could be cut down to a decade..."

Priscilla's heart sinks down into her stomach, and her hands instinctively cover the patch of scales on her neck. "You're witherimg," she says, realization dawning on her. Seath turns to her.

"You're withering!" She repeats, shouting now. She smirks. "For a dragon without scales to be immortal... Your body is exposed to the flow of time, yet it cannot die. You-"

"ENOUGH! You will show me the respect I am due. I created you, I am immortal, and I possess the largest collection of knowledge in history! YOU WILL SHOW RESPECT TO SEATH, DUKE OF LORDRAN!

Priscilla sticks her tongue out at him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sær holds his creation aloft, concentrating his magic into it. The bones of fallen clerics have been joined so that they may fight once more. He points the bone staff at the cell door, focusing completely on taking knowledge from his brain and fueling magic with it.

"HAAH!"

A great bolt of blue light streaks from the hand bones at the tip of the staff. The spell homes in on the lock, diving into it. The door gives a loud CRACK, then another, and yet another, rattling and shaking each time.

All of a sudden, the bolts on the door shoot out, propelled by the magic filling the door. Sær dashes and swipes like a madman, evading and blocking the makeshift arrows. The door creaks and blows off it's hinges, rocketing towards him. He dodges out of the way, the door clipping his foot and sending him spinning. He handsprings, landing on his feet and right hand as he skids to a stop. Dust and debris swirls throughout the cell.

Sær is running through the dungeons before the door even falls. He has a dragon to rescue.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Seath lays out a bladed grate, a knife, and a prying tool and sets to work dousing them in growth fluid. The concoction will speed up the healing process of whatever is cut, and ensures it grows back completely.

"Come hither, child." Seath reaches through the bars with his fingers, plucking Priscilla's Lifehunt Scythe from her back.

While it couldn't kill him, it could still drain his limitless life force, something he would prefer to avoid.

The icy prison crumbles, and Priscilla shivers from fear.

"Fear not, child," Seath growls. "I merely want your scales."

"N-no," she says quietly. "Sær loves my scales..."

Seath snorts. "The undead? A pitiful creature. Though mostly useless you may be, you are still my blood, and still my daughter." He says the word as if it were something unpleasant he stepped on. "You shan't be courting such a worthless creature. No, we must keep our blood pure."

Priscilla stops shivering, and her eyes go cold. "Sær is not worthless," she says, voice dripping with rage.

"Fool girl. What would you have me call a creature so easily killed? Now come hither."

Priscilla clutches the scales on her neck once again. Grunting angrily, Seath grabs her, and she yells in suprise. Now, Priscilla understands how she must appear to Sær. She is as tall as Seath's mid-thigh, the same way Sær reaches her mid-thigh. For how frighteningly large her father is, she couldn't imagine courting someone that much larger then her. Sær was truly brave, indeed.

Seath roughly places her on the ground in front of him, binding her legs and arms with ice.

Her head is pulled back, and the scaling knife slowly lowers to her neck.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sær dashes through the archive dungeons, viciously cutting through hollows with a sword he procured from the armory. A skeleton blocks the stairs, red eyes gleaming as he holds up a falchion.

Sær runs to the side and approaches the stairs at an angle. He vaults off of the stone handrail, hitting the wall by the stairs and sticking for a moment from his momentum. Quick as a flash, he darts his foot out, bashing the skeleton on its exposed skull. It spins, slumping over the stone handrail. Sær jumps down, bending it's sword arm until it breaks and snatching the falchion. With a single strike, the monster is bisected at the waist.

Sær grabs the creature's curved spare dagger, quickly fastning it between the arm bones of his bone staff. It makes a decent scythe, and having an extra hand free is invaluable.

The following minutes are a blur of flashing steel and flying books. Sær is a tattered dervish, Flowing up and over toppled bookshelves, climbing moldings, and jumping off walls over enemies to stab them in the back. Despite the severity of the situation, Sær finds himself joyously screaming, a sense of freedom and fluidity he hasn't felt for a long time enveloping his mind. From the start of his journey, he had donned plate and mail, unwilling to slow his journey by perishing in a single strike.

But now...

Sær had forgotten that battle was fun. He had forgotten the exhilaration, the triumph, the pure bliss of conquering his enemies with such ease.

As he reaches the final staircase, he hears a scream.

Priscilla.

Sær's eyes are aglow with rage as he whispers to himself.

"Just wait, Darling. It's my turn to save you."