Mezuh awoke late in the morning, close to the beginning of the afternoon. He needed as much sleep he could get, as he didn't know when he would need to be fit once more. He kicked a woman, a dragon mark going from crotch to neck, wings wavering over her breasts, out of his bed. He didn't remember her name, only remembered the moment she was brought in, and several times in the dungeon. She was now another shell, used to draw power from, and for enjoyment. The king had no idea that was the reason why he needed that much space, thinking he used it for alchemy and training of kinds. He stood up, dressing in his robes, adorned with jewels flaming with power for those who could see it.<br/><br/>He made his rounds through the dungeons, drawing the power of the captives there, keeping them at levels where they could barely think of fatigue. Ones who had become too weak just died, giving him an extra rush of power as the power which kept them alive went through him into another gem. He would have someone clean the bodies up later. After that he went towards his tower, all the way to the top, taking two steps per pace. When he got upstairs he lay his hand on the black gem there, and his sight conjoined with his dragons'. He looked around, and made the dragon scan the area, to look for Riders. When he didn't found any, he decided he'd take a trip into the enemies' lair. He let his dragon be saddled, the saddle looking like it was made out of human hide, and stepped up on it. Soon all petty squabbles would be forgotten. Though with all their forces they easily overwhelmed him, he was still, and had always been, a force to be reckoned with. With a surprise he could easily destroy a quarter of their base without getting harmed much.