-[Act 4 * Part 4]-

With the ritual of binding completed, the minions returned to their unit formations. There they remained, exchanging whispered conversations of the great things that were sure to come.

Their work complete, Chronos and Gaia returned to the Mansion, followed by the maids and manservants of House Doom. Now only the fighters and mages remained in the throne room. Once the last non-combatant had departed, their hushed conversations ceased, as if cut off at the point of an edge.

Scarlet and Schwartz took their place at the steps of the throne. Joining them for the first time were Elnora, Nadia and Aidan who took their place next to the two top fighters of House Doom at the feet of their master.

Basil snapped his fingers and the throne room grew brighter. The black iron braziers on the pillars and the arcane fires therein responded to the will of the dungeon keeper. Fanned by his arcane power their light soon banished the black mist that had lingered heavy upon the scene just a moment prior to the sudden shift.

The formations of the minions were now fully revealed, spanning far and wide throughout the throne room under the red light of the thirsting flames. Hundreds of servants, warriors and specialists of various creeds and combat classes stood arranged side by side upon the cold and loveless granite floor of their master’s dungeon. Most prominent among them were the two hundred rangers and paladins standing at the very front, dressed in full battle gear. Positioned behind them into a single wide formation were at least as many bestial and demonic warriors, representing the full spectrum of demi-humanity among them.

Facing the steps of the throne and separating the formations of Schwartz’s rangers and Scarlet’s paladins were four columns of battle mages. In stark contrast to the nearly identical appearance of the fighters surrounding them, the gear and armor of these individuals varied greatly from person to person. Such a wide range of diversity in equipment was born out of the necessity to tailor their tools to the delicate nature of the arcane—often unstable, unless properly managed.

Their respective schools of magic were represented in the color of the elemental crystals that crowned their staffs and bejeweled their scepters and wands. Red was the domain of fire and the pyromancers who reveled in channeling it. Blue crystals symbolized water in all of its aggregate states, be they frozen, liquid or gas. Green was the element of nature and the druids who served it. The white crystals represented the domain of force, including wind and lightning—the elements best understood by those of a shamanic persuasion. Pale gray were the stones representing the mystical school of illusion and there were but a few of them present.

At a casual glance the ranks of the mages seemed chaotic, mixed and matched as they were in the middle of the chamber. They almost appeared to have been arranged at random. But to the trained eye the array of colors and elements would bring to mind the core idea that permeated all of the schools of magic—the pursuit of balance. The mages gathered here had to account for their own inherent power that was coupled with their less than stable connection to the source of all magic—the arcane resource known as mana. Each of the elements had at least one other that could counter it and in close proximity they were liable to clash, distorting their effects and auras. Some of the elements could counter several others or even themselves, but there were two among them that stood out even more than the mystical school of illusion, which Basil himself had mastered.

The mages representing these two elements of magic were not mixed in with the others, but, rather, stood gathered on the opposite sides of their formation. At the very front, facing the throne, stood the golden light of creation—often considered divine and holy—which empowered the spells of healing and abilities that could bless one’s flesh and uplift the spirit.

Separated from the priests and healers by all the other schools of magic, at the very back of the formation lurked the mages who dabbled in the powers of death—their element being regarded as the most unholy. Known as necromancers, these men and women sought ways of extending life to the un-living; to prolong their existence beyond the boundaries of their mortal shells and to grow their power beyond the intended limitations set by the universe.

Divided by more than just their opposing schools of magic, these two groups were the polar opposites of one another in all things visible and not. The mages and healers who proudly carried the golden crystals in their staffs and scepters all seemed to glow with divine beauty, exuding an aura of alluring charm and… unmistakable arrogance. They were as wise, beautiful, well groomed and they were shamelessly proud of it all. In spite of their blindingly obvious superiority complex—or in light of it—they garnered immense respect as their services were appreciated by all.

Less pleasant things could be said about the necromancers, who all exuded an aura of dread and gloom about them. They shared the wise expressions of their holy brothers and sisters, but possessed none of the timeless beauty that their divine blessings could bring. But they cared not for such vanity as at the heart of their school of magic was the pursuit of dominance over the very concepts of life and death. They cared not for how others perceived them, only that they witnessed their power and knew to shudder in fear.

Unlike most other elements and their counters, the domains of life and death were not just incompatible, but downright hostile to one another. That is to say that no mage could ever hold the power of both in his repertoire. At best, it was a fool’s errand to try and combine the use of holy and unholy spells—destined to fizzle and fail. At worst, it could end in a quick and brutal demise of the caster, possibly followed by a tortured existence as an abomination—a creature neither dead nor alive.

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With all of this in mind, the throne room had not only been divided to serve as a barrier between the antagonistic parties of Schwartz and Scarlet, but also between the holy and unholy powers of magic. They all served the same master, but there were powers far greater than loyalty at work in the universe. Sometimes one’s comrades were their worst enemies; only united by a common goal and purpose, much like Scarlet and Schwartz was in their service to Lord Doom.

Basil surveyed the orderly formations of his minions from his throne. The dark lord then pulled up his dungeon keeper’s manual and signaled to make ready for the jump.

“It is time,” he announced as he navigated the pages of his leather bound tome. He soon found the section containing the permanent status effects and current coordinates of the dungeon core. The page held a list of possible commands. At the bottom of the list, in bold red letters, was written: Enter new coordinates. A grayed out line of text below it prompted the user to ‘Jump the Core’.

Basil pulled up the page containing the coordinates to his next conquest—a Guild standard issue contract headlined by a single name: Ragnadar. Basil entered a string of numbers sixteen digits long and held out his finger over the order to jump. He looked up from the book and gave his final command: “Make ready for battle,” he said. “I am initiating the countdown now.”

The dark lord then placed his finger on the letters and triggered the countdown to the jump. If all went well, in one minute the core would transport the dungeon and its denizens to their target coordinates.

Basil’s obsidian throne began to hum and rumble as arcane power was being channeled into the core of his dungeon that was hidden beneath it. The mana infused stone pillars that were positioned throughout the throne room came to life. Once again their blue light clashed with the red of the arcane fires, painting the room in a purple tint.

Now that the countdown had been initiated Basil’s minions broke their parade formations and lined themselves up into a defensive perimeter guarding their master’s throne and the entrance to the Doom Mansion behind it. Paladins and warriors took to the front line, rangers stood fast behind them and mages positioned themselves at the back.

No magic barriers were thrown up or blessing cast, as with the dungeon core powering up, the throne room had turned into a massive mana syphon. It tore away all the arcane power that flowed through the halls of the dungeon and would easily consume any mana channeled into a spell before it could manifest. It was a rare moment of vulnerability to the dungeon keeper at the heart of his domain, so Basil’s forces stood ready to repel any sudden attack that might manifest.

As the counter ran down to zero a green textbox appeared at the top of the page. Basil touched the ‘Jump’ button and the entire throne room began to tremble. The sound of the dungeon winding up for the jump was horrible. It felt like the ground around them was breaking apart. Through the open doorway of the throne room the hallway beyond could be seen collapsing. Rocks rained down onto the floor and the splendid golden chandeliers that lit the approach to the throne room were left behind to be buried along with the rest of the dungeon.

Finally, even the arcane fires in the braziers on the pillars were snuffed out by the thirsting core, once more casting the throne room in a shroud of dusk. It was a clear sign that the core needed more mana to execute the jump, so Basil raised his palm and channeled pure arcane energy into the ether. As the blue smoke rose from his fingers the rumbling of the dungeon core grew even louder. Then a long shriek cut through the air and the entire room jumped, as if it had been suddenly torn away from the surrounding world, staggering the minions. Following this one last motion the sound of grinding rock vanished and the trembling ceased.

As silence settled over the throne room, a single line of text appeared in Basil’s manual: “Core Jump Complete!”

Basil wasted no time and issued his next command. “To your battle stations!” he roared. “Make ready for combat!”

At his command the defensive formation surrounding the throne was broken up. The minions grouped up in to parties of eight and made a dash for the open door at the far end of the throne room. With the dungeon having been torn from its previous resting place and their new surroundings unexplored, they were liable to find themselves facing danger.

Each combat party consisted of two paladins, two rangers, a healer and a battle mage, supported by two auxiliaries from the ranks of the Mansion’s demi-human warriors. There was a lot of variety on display, as all of the minions were given a role to play in the defense of the dungeon core. Some parties had hulking demon warriors to back them up while others had been assigned alchemists or engineers to bolster their combat capabilities. Likewise, the group leaders varied in their race and class—some were demons, like succubae or their male counterparts, the incubi, while others were led by one of Scarlet’s or Schwartz’s minions.

As Basil’s army streamed through the door of the throne room, the necromancers—seven in all—remained behind, waiting on their servants to arrive. Through the open portal of the Mansion a band of twenty skeleton warriors soon emerged and set a course towards their commanders. Then another band followed and then another…

One by one, the necromancers each took charge of twenty undead minions and led them towards the exit. Each undead party consisted of eight halberdiers that formed the frontline. Backing them up were four soldiers carrying two handed swords. Eight undead crossbowmen remained in the backline, bracing their loaded weapons to their chest so as to point them away from their allies.

All of the undead minions were encased in armored shells, which looked to have been designed specifically for their hollow bodies. The thick plates of armor and fully enclosed helmets left no gaps for the weapons of their enemies to pierce. Eternal structural supports connected the interconnected pieces their adamantium armor to brace them against blunt damage.

Unlike the decomposing and tarnished undead armies most often encountered on kith worlds, the lifeless servants of House Doom looked no less knightly than their living counterparts. They even had the clenched fist icon of their House painted in gold over the chest piece of their green adamantium armor. They wore no capes or tabards, as such garments were entirely superficial and unnecessary for creatures that feared not the rain or sun and had no desire to display their social status.

Basil von Doom stood up from his throne and took out a mana potion from his magic pouch. The dungeon keeper emptied the drink on his way down and left the bottle sitting on the steps of the throne.

He addressed the cowering shapes of Aidan and Nadia on his way towards the exit. “Come, my servants,” he said. “Come and behold the splendor of the Astral Sea that I promised.”

“Was that… the jump?” Nadia asked.

“It sure was,” Elnora answered. The succubus nudged the twins along as she herself set out to match the pace of Lord Doom.

Elnora had soon caught up with her Master. When she noticed that the twins were lagging behind, she turned around to give them some encouragement. “You will be safer if you stick with us,” she told them.

Reluctant as always, the siblings elected to follow the monsters towards the exit.