In possession of cracking clench, he held on the fibula of a skeletal warrior with his own teeth. By his standards, this endless battle had already turned barbaric in nature. He did what he needed to in order to survive as he was scrambling, laying waste to several of the undead with his FMG-9 firearm, only once again to be swept off his feet by the resurging dead from below. Clashing instantaneously above his head was the skull of an undead warrior and the powerful blade owned by The Traveller. Easily the head of the monster was cleaved in two and the puss-filled, maggot infested remnants of what it called its brain spilled. Taking that opening, Sciaac used his upper right appendage and gripped the skull before him, literally tearing its frame apart with its dual clasp of its lower spine.

Promptly gathering himself, he rose to his feet, giving a nod to The Traveler as he did not need to help but he did. Sciaac was accustomed to being alone on most if not all of his previous endeavors. The notion of help he was thankful for, but it sparked a bit of unhealthy intrigue on his part. Who was this individual? Why did he help him? Why was there such an influx of warriors here period? Is there something they were after. Considering the situation, there wasn’t much time to inquire. Leaping with great nimbleness, he managed to dive down the stairs for temporary safety after running down the cleared path. 

Now standing tall, Sciaac winced a bit, cracking his neck freehand. A little banged up he was, but for the most part, he felt par. Progressing forward seemed to be the only option so regardless of how he felt he’d have to endure. Despite what he just witnessed, a sense of exhilaration began to stew within.