Fandom Dark Souls I

[The Chosen Undead]

(Note, I'm posting the same scenario for you guys since you're all doing the same thing at the same time in the same place; waking up in a grimey cell. Each of you will be given individual paragraphs after you do something.)

Krim
Osthavula
SecondBreaking
Dumbledoof

You awake. You're not sure how long you've been asleep; you're reasonably certain your intermittent periods of slumber have been gradually getting longer, but you don't actually have a way to tell time in this accursed cell. The sound of frail scuttling feet scrape against your ears, the revolting sound of insects scrounging whatever meager rations of dung they can find. The walls around you restrict movement; your cell is no larger than ten feet by ten feet. Although it is a naturally stone cell, murky green moss covers half of each wall and large cracks scar the stone. Originally it might have been gray or white, you can't tell, but now it is almost entirely stained in red, brown green and yellow. Three of those being bodily fluids. You would normally be repulsed by such unhygienic conditions but you've largely lost the will to live. You stare upon the gate; the iron rusted yet still holding strong enough to bar you're only exit. Red-toned hollows line the hall, some in fetal positions, others worshipping some invisible statue, yet more crouched upon the ground, their jaws open wide in awe. All are insane.

 

[The Chosen Undead]

Castello

 

[SecondBreaking]

Garl sat in the far corner of his cell, leaning with his right shoulder against the wall. He had been in an almost comatose state for what seemed like an eternity, but he was finally recovering. Garl had lost too much blood, he knew he may not have very long. He couldn't move his left arm, but could feel an almost overwhelming pain in his left torso. He lifted his right arm to feel what was the cause of the pain, and grimaced. It felt like a spear, and it was buried deep into his body. The hilt was broken off about three feet from the blade, but Garl knew it was finely crafted and silver, albeit stained with his own blood.

Garl stood laboriously and made his way to the rusted cell door. It was of such poor quality that some of the bars had even broken in multiple places. Garl closed his eyes, trying to control his rage. The gods left him and his people to die, and instead of helping him they locked him in some forgotten cell to die in the blood and piss of those who have hollowed long ago, and forgotten who even they themselves were. Garl clenched his fist and smashed it against the iron grate. His armored fist collided with the ancient, rusted iron and the cell door bent dangerously under the sudden force. He slowly drew his fist back, struggling to breathe as pain shot through his body. His left arm still hung limp at his side, but he didn't care. He hit the cell door once more and it collapsed under the force of the blow. A loud metallic "boom" echoed through the halls of the asylum, but Garl paid it no heed. He felt something drop from his left hand, heard it land in the filth of the cell. Garl bent down and picked it up with his right hand, the one he could move. He opened his armored fist to look at what he picked up, and held it close to his chest. He whispered something reverently before moving forward into the torch lit hallway.

 

[Castello]

Awoken by the sounds of moans and the vibrations of the prison floor, Lex's eyes quivered open. He was in a daze, his arms stung and he felt lighter and weaker. The thin fabric that had once joined his armor to his body was soaked in an oddly colored liquid, rusted water. His eyes could not adjust to the lighting of the room, he sat for what could have been several minutes just staring at the carvings of a previous cell dweller. They likely marked the days the inmate was locked inside and slowly Lex began to catch a hold of himself. He slowly counted the days... It was around twenty-two markings he counted before he could feel a warmth pulse through his veins. His eyes made for the window. The sun was shining light into his cell.

The light from the small window in the cell graced his tattered armor, he could feel a revitalization cure his bones and muscles. His wrists hit the floor, supporting the once heavily built man to his legs, his bones struggling not to crumble under his own weight, but the light kept luring him to his feet. Like a toddler just learning to walk, he walked to the light infatuated with something he could not quite put his finger on. But as his hands felt the rays, everything came back to him; his name and skills hit him like lightning.

"Yes... Yes." He almost insanely muttered.

His eyes turned to the cell door with a renewed conviction. He was going to get out this place so he could properly greet the sun after a long slumber.

 

[Krim]

Isra had come to know the four walls of her cell with ample familiarity. Feeling her way around the room in a circle, and hurling a few pebbles up to the ceiling just in case there was an opening she couldn't see, it took her no time at all to figure out what had happened. Yet, there was something amply fitting about the situation she was now in.

Sitting down and pressing her back against the cold stone wall made her smile. After all, her most recent sharp memory was of being roasted alive. The scuttling of a cockroach made her huff pitiously, "You'll find no food here, little one." She whispered, "We don't age, we don't rot, we don't eat, we don't drink, and we certainly don't die. Even our rags will return to us in time."

 

[The Chosen Undead]

SecondBreaking
Ahead of you is a long, orange torch-lit corridor with poor Hollowed men and women in various forms of insanity; some lay prostrate, and others worship some invisible deity. Somewhere to the right you hear bellowing stomps of something great and most likely monstrous. Insects litter the hall, both dead and alive and crawl upon the skin of the Undead with hungry fervor. It's a putrid sight. At the far end of the hall you see what appears to be a small flight of stairs leading down into a much more poorly-lit area. It's the only way you see other than back into your cell.

Castello
You look about the cell for perhaps a way out. Nothing, it would seem. You could try busting open the prison door, but despite its rust it still stands strong. In your pondering, you hear scuttling on the roof above you; too large to be a rat's. You stare upwards to the ceiling and wait... For... Something? But then, almost as you're losing interest, you hear a rather large brick being moved out of position, and grunting. After a few seconds a brick has been loosed and thrown from the roof, and through the new hole you see a man (or woman?) clad in metal armor, much like the high-ranking knights from your homeland of Astora, with the gray metal helm and the concave-cheeked bill. "Hey, you! I don't know your name, but I have a small present." His voice is masculine and baritone but quiet, like a father speaking to a child. He fumbles about a satchel attached to his waist for quite a while before pulling out something small that glints in the light. "You should know what to do with this. Unless you've truly Hollowed?" He says, before tossing the thing into your cell. It lands with a dainty tink on the cold stone floor.

It's a key.

Krim
The cockroach recedes into one of the many cracks of the stone wall, apparently fearful of your existential rant. Other than the roach, you can see no visible movement save the insane Hollows just outside your cell. Watching them with disinterest, a question arises. How did they get out? Were they ever even in a cell, or were they just brought here, the jailors knowing they're too far gone to even consider escape? Or did they hollow out in the halls? Many questions, no answers...

 

[Osthavula]

The skin crawled.

Or so she thought. The armoured maiden woke abruptly to the sensation beside her, and found on her arm some fallen wet moss clinging to the brick wall, and cold liquid seaping through the armour cracks. She tried to pull her arm away from the plants, but very slowly. In fact, it felt like she was half dead, her limbs numbed like a wind-dried corpse. She moaned in agony, exercised the stiff muscles gradually until she could sit up, and took a look around the room.

On two sides, it was barred with sturdy metals, on the other two, stone walls. One of the the barred side was the shared wall into another cell, and she could hear faint sound from there.

"Hello?" She tried asking, but no answer. Only it became clear to her that the sound was between groaning and sobbing. At least it wasn't anything hostile.

The hollowing girl thought to herself, or tried to. She wanted to remember her name. What was it? The name is.... Sol.... Solveig. I'm a wanderer. Why I am here? I was caught... By something. I can't think.

With the useless help of the slippery wall, Solveig helped herself up. The weight of armour was heavy on her, but she knew better than to take it off. "Hello?" Her voice was coarsed now. Liquid spattered every step she walked closer to the neighbouring cell. Perhaps she was lucky, for Solveig did get a window and the sunlight would fall on her, as hedious as she appeared. Her unfortunate neighbour did not get one, and was kneeling near the bars too, in the shadow it sobbed into its boney hands. You could no longer guess how the person look before, and its mouth gaped wide open. Its eyes did not react to Solveig at all.

"Hello, neighbour. Mind if I borrow your weapon?"

The neighbour wouldn't reply. After a long wait, she foolishly decided she should just put her hands through the bars. The neighbour remained docile even when her fingers grabbed the sword handle, and pulled it back to her own cell. No replied when Solveig apologized too, just very mindless, pityful sobbing.

With some knocking and picking, her cell door swing wide open.

Before leaving, she knocked open her neighbour's door. Entering the dark cell, she patted on her neighbour's shoulder carefully. "I will take this sword. I'm sorry friend, may you eventually find your comfort."

No reply. Just pityful sobbing.

She stood there, hesitated, and finally left the cell with the door open. The light reflected on the dagger tied on her waist, its tip rusted. Whatever cloth on Solveig's armour was torn and in faded blue hue, and there was a dent on the back. Slowly she worked her way through the corridor, slowly but steadily.

"I'm... Solveig" She whispered.

"... Knight of Astora."

 

[Castello]

Lex, blinded by the absolute glare saw not the man, but a shrouded figure outlined by grossly incandescent beams. It was if the sun had answered his prayers itself. Not to come off rude to the more than grateful gift, Lex promptly inserted it into his cell door's lock. His undead skin cracked a smile that no mother could love, even one as gracious as the sun.

*ka chink*
The door would open with a loud creak, alerting the delirious hollows that banged against the wall and scraped the floor with their jagged finger nails.

Filled with an almost inhuman resolve, Lex paved through the asylum. Of course, cursed with directions of a brain dead mouse, it seemed the man walked in circles, visiting the hollows who had perhaps even begun to recognized the man, with his steered gaze and clutched fist.

However, the sounds of footsteps lured the ever so curious man. He paced with his torn up legging's, exposing his thighs that appeared like well-done meat. His cloak dangled inside the newly created crevices in his armor. Armor that had once shun so vividly now rusted orange, filled with dents and holes. It was hardly serviceable, Lex would be better without, but no true Astoran-born would discard a gift from family so casually. He would sound no different than a hollow, the crack of his bones vibrating against the asylum corridor.

And then he saw it, a vision that rivaled the sun itself. Astoran Blonde hair. He could only begin to imagine the shimmering blue eyes that he too wore with the utmost pride. If such a vision was that of a hollow, he would have no issues giving up the shackles of being an undead, at least his heart told him so.

"Y-you!" He exclaimed with a shock that had just surfaced, it had been so long since he had seen another, let alone one of such beauty.

"Thou art Astoran! Thy hair has most definitely seen the brine of my loved and cherished homeland! Come thither should thou not be a hollow... Oh please do not be so!" His tone was almost desperate, he so wished for this to be true. Though his accent would denote him as a faithful astoran.
Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Castello

Surprised by a call amidst the undead who had lost their minds, Solveig turn to see another sane one wearing similar armour, no doubt crafted in Astora. Did the knight not see that her eyes were that of Carim? No matter, he put a smile on her face for the first time she woke. And yes, she often had heard of knights from Astora praising her hair, golden like the ray of sun. Though now that she was in a hollowing state, the golden hair would have lost it shine, brittle and poking out of her untidy braid.

Alas, the knights of Astora, where are they? Are they far? How she missed the warrior of sunlights, her old companions on road. And how she missed Astora, which she wished so strongly that it would be her birthplace. It seemed so long ago that she had seen them, and that feeling that it might not be wrong.

"I am indeed not hollow, fellow knight. " She greeted. "Did you wander here, sweet dear Astoran? Or did you too was abandoned in a cell? "

She would greet him with the gesture of praising the sun, as taught by her old friends. But the ceiling was not tall, nor did any sunlight slipped through. This was a desolated grim place, without any hint of hope and liveliness. That was, until this man showed up. Sometimes Solveig would think that the Knights could emit ray of sunlights themselves, figuratively speaking.

 

[SecondBreaking]

Garl continued down the corridor, walking towards the darkened stairwell leading downwards. He pulled a torch from a sconce, then shook his head in anger. He would take no gifts from his captors. He crushed the torch underfoot and continued towards the stairwell, but he began to slow his pace as he heard the piteous moans of the hollows. He stopped and took a serious look around the corridor he was in. Multiple hollows sat on the ground. They covered their ears and were shaking their heads wildly. Garl knew these people were lost, their souls were gone. These things were not living, but they were suffering nonetheless. Garl resolved to end their suffering.

Not long after, Garl left the hallway, leaving via the stairs. It was dark, but he didn't care. He would leave this place and avenge the souls of these lifeless husks. The hallway was silent after he left.

 

[Krim]

Isra could, in fact, see no visible movement at all, being blind. She certainly heard the moaning and shuffling of the Hollows, however. The place was an oubliette, to be sure. A place where the prisoners were subsequently forgotten about and left to rot.

"But it will all extinguish soon." She said, slowly getting to her rickety feet and leaning on the wall beside the door. "And we'll find our peace. All of us."

 

[Castello]

Meeting her eyes with his own, he could feel his mouth tug to a slight frown. He could quickly conclude that her eyes were that of a different land, not of his beloved. But he knew that such luck could not be crossed with such a disappointed remark. The woman seemed ample to play to his desired fantasy of running into an Astoran maiden. For the imprisoned Lex, that was just enough.

Lex would crack a slight chuckle at her gesture, one he had not seen in a while. In his undead state, Lex was far from the ray of sunlight he once was, figuratively and literally. His once fair skin and shiny blonde hair almost appeared brown and aged like rancid ale. Yet, he would emulate her gesture that would at least bring some semblance to the once proud Astoran, perhaps there was still some sun left within him.

"I...I..."

His mind would blank on the response. What did happen? For that, he held no answers. He knew he was Astoran, he could recognize the sun and what made him the Lex he was but nothing more. No purpose except pride. Little of anything except the Astoran emblem that had faded out on his rusted armor that was better described as a collection of pieces rather than a constant piece.

"Ah, to thy question... I must... Admit." He stated with a slight pause. "That the answer... It bewilders such a proud knight such as I. The air here, it is that of a different land, not of beloved Astora. I must selleth mine own pride, for it seems I have been abandoned. Cast away, though I dread, like the doll of a young lass upon her cometh of womanhood."

His throat would clear and his tone would drastically change. A return to his typical self.

"But, haveth little fear maiden of a foreign land! For where the sun may shine, we undead may find a light to guide us!"

Lex's blue eyes would be lit up by a nearby torch, deep navy and tainted with an almost idiotic glare that was always set forward.

"Thou hath a name, aye? Mine Maiden may call me Lex, Lex of Astora..." He would begin to confess. "Though, the sun doth not shine here, may m'lady guide me to mine most precious light? We Astorans may not always be renown for our navigation of cold, dank labyrinths..."
Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Ah, it was clear that the knight had recognized the difference. It added a little sadness in her, but also she was grateful that he took it with good grace. "You may call me Solveig." She stopped there. Never would she relate her birthplace to this name. " It was my great fortune to meet you, Lex. I too would not know the direction of this labyrinth. But ay, we should always hope for the sun! And I believe we could enjoy some jolly cooperation?"

Though she said it with half joking tone, the words rang sweet memories in her. The warrior of sunlights and their jolly cooperation helped her many times, She often wonder if she would have gone hollow much earlier if not for those encounters.

"Also, I do not think the way I came from would lead to the entrance. What about where you came from? Such a large settlement dedicated to cells and bars, and many undead, that I wonder where we are at. I would think both you and I were casted to a foreign land. Good news was, I'm sure this was above ground. My cell room was grace by sunlight, too bright to be a place buried deep. "

Within the time of their exchange Solveig was regaining more and more flexibility and life. Waving her arms slightly by the joints, she felt she could regain some agility now.

Castello

 

[Dumbledoof]

Serath never would have thought he'd have ended up here, of all places in the world. An asylum for the undead... as if they were insane. No, Hollows weren't mad... they simply had lost all purpose. Their past motivations mean little when their current predicament prevents them from completing it... their lost Humanity. It was not only that they were cast out by the rest of the world, they were also locked in this place to rot forever... to 'contain' the Curse. It would not be contained, it never would. They wanted the easy way out, to forget it existed.

That's his own thoughts on the matter. Being in this place wasn't all that bad; of course, he had been stripped of much except his clothes, which were tattered and torn and unfit to even be worn by a son of Vinheim... oh well. He could hardly be called of Vinheim any longer, not after his exile from the esteemed school of sorcery. They did not appreciate his methods, nor the fact that he had bore and hid he was Undead from them, that he had the Curse. As such, they had sent him away, and to what better place than to this abominable place? This is why Undead go to die, again and again... inevitably Hollowing.

Not unless they managed to keep hold of themselves, to remember their path, their conquests or purposes, however many or worthy they are.

Flicking a cockroach off of his hand, Serath stood up slowly from his place in the corner of his cell, brushing what little dust and dirt he could off his clothing as he did. It was surely criminal to allow this place to fall into such disarray. How long had he been here, decades? It certainly seemed so by the outrageous condition of the door. It was so rusted that the bars had grown thin from age, most of the metal having turned into ugly dark orange or brown shavings on the ground around it.

Even in its terrible rusting, the door was probably still too strong for him to simply break down. If he had his blade still, or a simple catalyst, he knew a spell that could easily break this thing down. A blade made of souls would most likely be able to cut straight through those bars. If they were enchanted at any point in the past he doubted it would hold up any longer. He braced his arm against the bars horizontally across, leaning his arm on his forearm and gazing between the bars into the hallway. Was there any way to escape?

 

[SecondBreaking]

Garl walked past many cells, most either held hollowed beings or corpses, but he head a voice coming from one cell in front of him. He stopped and leaned against the wall outside of the iron bars to catch his breath. He had lost some blood since he left his cell, and very likely had left a trail of blood when he was walking. He knew he would have to find someone skilled at healing soon or he wouldn't last much longer. "Is anyone in there?" Garl asked, facing the cell. He saw a person leaning on the wall near the entrance to the cell, but needed to make sure it wasn't a hollow before wasting any more of his time on it.

Krim

Garl was quite loud in his heavy armor as he moved, and by no means did he hush his voice. It carried across the relative silence of the hallway, a clear sign of a person who wasn't hollow, if anyone was near by enough to hear it.

Dumbledoof

 

[Krim]

Shuffling to turn and face Garl, Isra squinted out the bars of the cage from under her cloak. "I am here." She speaks, "Or, what's left of me. I fear the curse may have marred my youthful beauty." The old woman gives a quiet laugh at her own joke. "I am Isra, stranger. Planning an escape, are we? If I can get my hands on a proper staff, I'll be glad to lend my magic to your side. And if the demons should smash you to bits, I'll make sure your armor goes to a good cause." Another chuckle.

SecondBreaking

 

[The Chosen Undead]

Alexhei sat crumpled in his cell, face cast down to the ground and incoherent groans with something invisible across the room his only chatter. His studded leather armor now lay in rags, torn in innumerable places and almost entirely stained with crimson. His gleaming silver faceplate now yearns for the days of the Royal Family and the East, a solid crack down the middle and green with corrosion. His mighty doublesaber now lay in the corner of his stone chamber, broken in two and hardly usable. Suddenly his voice raised, shouting at whatever figment of his imagination had offended him. His loud baritone hollering echoed down the halls, and Alexhei slumped once again.

Dumbledoof
The bars creak under your weight but do not give away. Whatever metal these things were made of was most likely either very expensive or unnatural; any steel or iron would have faded to dust with such grievous amount of withering and tear.

 

[SecondBreaking]

"We won't be going anywhere unless we find a key to open this cell." Garl said. "You aren't by any chance a healer, are you?" He asked in a rather defeated tone. "It so happens I am grievously wounded, and won't see the next sunrise without help." Garl was surprised to find another survivor, but his joy was tempered by the seeming inevitability of his impending death. If he died, he feared he would never find another person with a soul.

Krim

 

[Dumbledoof]

Serath's eyes widened slightly at the sound of somebody's voice, yelling somewhere in the Asylum. It sounded as if they were somewhere down the hallway. He doubted that they would be able break these bars as well; if he knew anything about magic, his were certainly some part magically enchanted. Guess the jerks at Vinheim had decided they wanted him to stay down for a long, long time, even after others had escaped. If only he had a catalyst...

"Hey, over here!" He yelled back to Garl, quickly knocking his knuckles against the stone wall to produce some form of noise. "I'm stuck in my cell. These bars were magically enchanted at some point..." he paused There wouldn't be sticks aside from a catalyst here, would there be? "Uh... this is going to sound strange, but can you find me a stick? I'm a sorcery, I need it to be able to cut through the bars."

That would probably be his only chance for getting out.

SecondBreaking

 

[Castello]

"Nay, I feareth that my origination was to be well scouted, well scouted indeed! I needeth no sun to walk in circles! Clearly there is a way out however..."

Lex would delve into thorough thought, going into distant humming and observing the workings of the jail he was so abruptly locked in. He was finding grasps on reality in his thought, able to come to some sort of conclusion of where the new pair could wander off to. Suddenly it hit him, an idea of proportions that far exceeded his aimless wandering just a brief couple of minutes ago.

"Oho! Methinks I have formulated our crew a plan that shalt see us out of this drab fortress of bars!" he would nod, approving his own idea. "Thou sees, my young maiden, I can rembereth very clearly a voice that breathed upon my revival in this dreaded labyrinth... Ahhh," he said in a reminiscing tone. "Yes, just like how a father would guide his forlorn son! His voice spoke to me from this direction!" He would say, pointing slighting to the north east. "Now this could mean nothing... It could indeed... But it was the sun I saw and in midst of sun, few dastards will tell a lie. We must try such a direction with my maiden guiding us! For it is a lady's luck that will surely see our insurrection of the soul from this chained place!"

He escorted her to the position of guide mostly out of shame. As for the direction he pointed was also the direction of his old cell.

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Castello

Since she didn't see where Lex came from, she had little doubt of him. And a little direction was better than none.

"Very well. " She said, "If there is indeed luck left on me in this labyrinth of jails, may it safely guide our way. "

Towards the direction he pointed she led, cautiously but steadily. And there was no one, no undead that thought to interupt them. A long corridor of thin figures who had lost their mind, in and out of their rusted bars sang the symphony of dread. Truely a scene of hell, and Solveig came from Carim. She thought never was there anything more dreadful.

It made her a little restless, and tried to talk to the knight beside her. "I wonder where the keeper had went, Lex. Have you seen anyone like that? It was as if... " She didn't finish her sentence. The thought was too gloomy and they didn't need more of that.

But how long were they abandoned? It was as if everyone but the jailed had left, and had since passed many years.

The possibility that everyone she thought dear was gone.

 

[SecondBreaking]

Garl turned his head towards the voice that spoke to him. He didn't see who was talking but any chance of survival was worth the risk. He wordlessly ripped the spear tip from his shoulder and threw it towards where he heard the voice. He saw the flash of silver in the torchlight and heard the piece of metal rattle on the ground as it landed in front of the cell, just outside of the bars. Garl knew next to nothing about sorcery, but he knew that sorcerers needed some sort of catalyst to cast spells. He wasn't sure that a sorcerer could use a broken spear hilt as a catalyst, but if there was any chance he had to take it. Garl sank to the floor, and sat with his back to the cell that the woman was in. He leaned his back against the cell and held his right hand over his wounded shoulder. He applied as much pressure as he could muster on his shoulder as blood began to rush out with renewed intensity. He turned his head into the cell and spoke coarsely. "Bring me a cloth. Something, anything to stop this damned bleeding." After a moment he moderated his tone and spoke again. "Please." He said.

Dumbledoof

Krim

 

[Krim]

"I have learned many arts in my years. Healing is indeed one of them." Isra tells Garl, in answer to his question of whether she was a healer, "But I can do little from inside here." As he tore out the spearhead, she sighed sibilantly. "Fool boy. That spear was damming the flow of your blood. Now the dam's broke." She tsks and tears off a strip of cloth from the rags she wears, handing it to him, "These are thin and will make poor gauze. But tell me, sir. How was it that you escaped?"

 

[The Chosen Undead]

Alexhei sits solemnly, head lightly bobbing like some drunkard cast out on the streets. He mumbles to himself lightly, the whispers and incoherent squabbling echoing off the cracked stone walls. Suddenly he rises halfway to his feet, shouting obscenities to whatever he sees ahead of him. Slowly he calms down, his tone dropping in volume and once again rambling about something indecipherable. He stares at his broken doublesaber in the corner, suddenly going silent, as if reminiscing about the days when he would slay countless undead with the magnificent tool of destruction, but now it lay in a pile of whomever's own dung, green and orange from rust and corrosion.

The life of an Undead...

 

[Dumbledoof]

He waited patiently. He had been doing this for who knows how long, so there wasn't any point to getting impatient now. It was a bit of a wonder, though... did they all just start coming back their senses now? He didn't recall seeing, hearing, or otherwise knowing of any other undead escapees, why was it happening now? Perhaps something happened outside of the asylum, with those flames... there was always something strange about fire.

Regardless, the spear hilt landed just in front of the bars. He crouched down, reaching between them and daintily taking it. This certainly would not produce any sorceries even relatively as strong as a proper catalyst like his sword, but it may still get the job done. He pulled it through the bars, swinging it once or twice, and then summoning a sword made out of souls through it. The blade was shoddy, more transparent than blue. He just had to hope this would work.

After managing to stabilize the spell a little, he shoved the blade between the bars, steadying his hands, and beginning to try and cut through the bars. Even if he couldn't completely break through, simply weakening them might be enough.

SecondBreaking