Kapitel 223: Raized
The Deathlord had literally just charged through the ten serpent wards without care, haphazardly swinging its axe and killing two serpents as their flame darts fizzle against its armour. It doesn't kill anymore however, as its complete focus was on Michael, and only Michael.
His Shadow Dance had worn off by now, leaving him standing there like a lemming as the undead monster charged him. "FUS!" it shouts, the single word shout almost knocking Michael off of his feet as it collides with him, but he casts Hex at it just in time to avoid the axe headed for his skull.
The Hex effect doesn't even last one second long, but the sudden transformation stops its swing and allows Michael to get in a quick attack. He stabs Derflinger at its eye-slit, but he hadn't recovered his balance enough yet to accurately strike it, causing his blade's tip to slide off of the side of the ebony helmet.
"SCRREEEAAA!"
*Clank!*
An ebony shield is slammed into his face, knocking a tooth out of his mouth as its axe comes down on his arm that was holding Derflinger, easily cutting it off, as if its axe were a mono-molecular blade cutting through cotton candy.
"AARGH!" Michael shouts as Derflinger clatters to the floor, his lost arm spurting liberal amounts of blood onto the Draugr and the floor. He grits his teeth and bites his tongue to maintain focus however, ducking under its shield and snaking his fingers into its eye-slit.
"SHOCK!"
*CRACKLE!*
"SHOCK!"
*CRAAACKLE!*
"SCRAAAAA!"
"SHOCK!"
The first spell only causes the creature to stumble backwards, the fire affinity of it dealing great amounts of damage to the frost attributed undead. But the second and third were like pickaxes mining through stone, burying deeper and deeper the more times he struck.
By now a fiery glow is being emitted from underneath its helmet, its desiccated flesh beginning to turn to ash under the heat produced by the concentrated spell. Michael's fingers weren't any better, becoming blacked and scorched charcoal the longer he kept them there... But the Deathlord wasn't quite dead yet, so he continued casting Ether Shock as his life truly did depend on it.
"Shock!"
"S-shock!"
"JUST DIE! SHOCK!"
"SCRA!?"
The Draugr gives one final confused growl before stiffening and falling backwards with a tremendous thud, Michael had been brought along for the ride as its mangled burnt fingers had melted to the inside of its helmet, causing him to fly through the air and onto the floor next to the undead creature.
"Ugggh..." he groans, exhaustion almost completely overtaking him as he looks down at his fingers, which had their flesh completely torn off, revealed blackened bone. Still though, he could feel the warm sensation of blood pooling from his severed arm, gritting his teeth hard enough to crack them, he raises his crippled arm to his stump and casts "Shock." one last time, searing it closed for now.
His vision becomes cloudy as darkness encroaches, unconsciousness overtaking him as he hears Derflinger's pleas to stay away. His last thought was on what Tiffania would think if he truly died here, as darkness took him.
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Hours later :
"OI! YOU BETTER WAKE UP, OR I'LL GNAW OFF WHATEVER'S LEFT OF THAT MANKY-LOOKING HAND OF YOURS!" Derflinger's frantic voice sounds out, waking Michael up from unconsciousness.
He groans as he lifts himself from the cold dungeon floor, wincing at the fact that he'd used his single remaining burnt hand to push him up. "Urgh, that doesn't look good." he murmurs, still not quite awake. Indeed, it looked as if someone had shoved his hand into a blast furnace for a couple seconds to see what'd happen.
"P-Partner! You're alive!"
"Shut up sword..." he grouses, bringing his wrist to his mouth and biting it to draw blood and cast Dark Pact.
*Thwoosh!*
The acidic mist quickly clears, revealing his new pink-looking arm and his fully healed digits. Still, he could feel phantom pains from having his fingers burnt and arm chopped, but they were fading fairly quickly. He stands and analyses the battlefield, his eyes drifting to the Draugr Deathlord corpse next to him. "Derflinger, you think we could get this armour repurposed for me?" he asks a grin splitting his lips as he imagined wading into battle like a badass black knight.
"Eh!? You really wanna wear that? This undead guy was buried in it, probably decomposed in it... It's probably welded to its skin at this point!... No! Just leave it so we can get back, the other's must be worried sick with us gone so long!"
...
"How long was I asleep?"
Derflinger clacks its jaw-thing, "No idea, but I'd say around eight hours if you slept as long as you usually do!... Oh, and that regrowing arm thing? Kinda gross up close..."
Michael shrugs, "I didn't go all Piccolo with it, so shut your trap... And Derflinger? That armour is mine." he says as he bends down and tries to remove the helmet, only for long strands of melted rotten skin to come away with it... Derflinger makes a gagging sound, and Michael was doing his best not to wretch at the sensation and sudden rotten smell.
"Er, I'll make sure to clean it up first... I'll probably have to get it remade too, you couldn't refit armour for a 9ft behemoth to make it usable for a guy just under 5.5ft...
"Still, its axe and shield can be used." he says as he tosses said weapons into his inventory.
"Bah, not even close to my quality... But they'll sell for a pretty sum... Now, can you place me somewhere where I can't see you debone the armour from the corpse? Please?"
Michael shrugs and picks up Derflinger before throwing it towards the Word Wall at the other end of the room, he then retrieves a dagger from his inventory and begins getting to work 'skinning' the armour from the corpse. Indeed, it's an incredibly gross, yet somehow labour-intensive task, especially since its leathery skin was as tough or tougher than the bark of most hardwood trees.
AUTORENGEDANKEN 
Niggross
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