The sun beats down, striking the earth like drumsticks on a war drum.
Two of the three walls surrounding the kingdom have already been breached. Houses and shops burn, pillars of smoke rising from their ruins. The subjects scream, fleeing from blue-skinned elves with dark armor and bloodthirsty smiles. Flaming boulders continue to rain from the sky, hurled by the mighty arms of blind cyclopes. Minotaurs and centaurs lead the enemy march; the former send human soldiers flying with backhands of their clubs, while the latter impale anyone who stands in their way, wielding two-meter-long spears.
The central castle remains intact, but for how long? Trenches were dug at every entrance, and the order was given to attack anyone who tries to cross them, be they enemies or merely peasants seeking refuge.
The faces of the human soldiers are masked in sweat and terror. Even the captain of the third squad, watching the dark army approach from atop the final wall, harbors no trace of hope. They defend the kingdom not because they expect to win. They defend it because they are ordered to, and because death is surely preferable to the slavery dealt by the dark elves. Likewise, the cyclopes, minotaurs, and centaurs are driven by no ideal or courage... but by the sheer horror they feel toward their cruel masters.
Inside the castle, the tremors are deeply felt.
"This way, Your Majesty," says Arrax, a pale, lanky fellow with black hair falling on both sides of his face. His silk robe is overloaded with gold and silver ornaments, as is typical of pretentious mages. Arrax points the way to his laboratory, located in the bowels of the castle's dungeons.
King Marc, a sovereign with a white beard and a stern face, is accompanied by his three children, his wife, a squad of elite soldiers, and Hilda, the captain of the second squad, a tall woman with features hardened by battle; the golden fringe of her wavy hair covers the patch over her right eye. By the way she constantly points her sword at Arrax, it is evident she distrusts the mage.
Hilda assumes Arrax has sold them out to the dark elves. The warrior was ready to cleave the mage in two. It is impossible for Arrax's promise to be real. It is impossible for anything to save the kingdom. Though it is also true that she, and the rest of the captains, considered an attack by the dark elves in broad daylight impossible. Hence, the assault took them all by surprise. Hilda grits her teeth and shakes her head, rejecting any trace of hope. Especially hope coming from Arrax, whose attitude and morality have always been a shade of gray leaning toward black.
They reach the cells. Here and there, a prisoner tries to reach through the bars to grab the king's children, but the soldiers keep them at bay with shouts and slashes at the air. They arrive at the laboratory, a long area with a high, vaulted ceiling. Arrax orders his hooded disciples to hurry and move the bookshelf at the back, revealing double doors.
"What are you hiding, Arrax?!" asks Hilda, gripping the hilt of her longsword.
"We have no time for our quarrels now, Captain! Follow me!" the mage replies.
Hilda already felt a knot in her stomach, dreading what was to come. But all her expectations turned to ash upon crossing the threshold.
The six-meter-tall gray crystal floats over a pitch-black pit of darkness, remaining inert, barely reflecting the light. Carved into the stone around the pit are six magic circles, their lines so twisted and complex that attempting to trace them with the eye induces a migraine.
Save for Arrax and his disciples, everyone tilts their heads toward the crystal and falls speechless. The king's youngest children do not know what it is, but they shudder under the pressure exerted by the silent object.
"A dungeon core…" murmurs King Marc.
Hilda is the first to react, leveling her sword at the mage.
"Arrax, you wretch! Did you bring such a dangerous entity into the kingdom?! What were you plotting?!"
The mage raises his hands.
"I did not bring it. I forged it from nothing," he replies with a certain hint of pride in his voice.
"Liar!"
"Why would I lie about this, damn it all?! Our enemies shall appear at any moment and slay us all!" Arrax covers his mouth and clears his throat, attempting to calm his voice. "Though one could say the elves were quite timely... Only today did I finish the final step required before presenting this new weapon to Your Majesty… The ritual to forge an artificial soul."
"Artificial souls do not exist!"
Arrax steps back and clears his throat, as if the captain's accusation caught him off guard, but he quickly composes himself and points an accusing finger at Hilda.
"What would you know, gorilla woman?! Magic is full of mysterious paths that someone as primitive as you could not even fathom!"
King Marc, foreseeing the start of an endless squabble between the two, exclaims:
"Silence, both of you!"
Both Hilda and Arrax take a knee and bow their heads in apology. The king's attention remains fixed upon the mage.
"Arrax, speak truly. Can this thing save my kingdom from the clutches of those worms that crawled out of their underground lair?"
"Possibly."
"Are you not certain?"
"No, Your Majesty." Arrax swallows hard. "I would have preferred to conduct trials first, but…"
Another shudder runs through the castle, caused by the impact of a catapult strike, serving to illustrate the reasons for Arrax's haste. King Marc sighs and nods, granting the mage permission to proceed. Arrax stands and orders his disciples to take their places on the magic circles, claiming the last available one for himself.
The six mages concentrate. The lines of the circles illuminate with an aquamarine glow. The power of magic feels like electricity in the air. The sorcerers' robes flutter from a breeze rising from the pit. Invisible threads stretch out into the ethereal, reaching beyond the galaxy of Fantasia.
Arrax extends his open hand toward the crystal.
"We require a soul to save us all! A soul that is ideal! Even if it be heresy against the heavens to ask for it...! Awaken and obey, Dungeon!"