From inside the depths of the castle the drum beats loudly. A madman is stirring and from beyond the vast deep the noise rumbles like thunder booming. Nervous excitement. Martyrs ready themselves as the tune of war gathers momentum, blitzing its way through the void and threatening to shatter the landscape as we know it.
The devils have taken over. A media frenzy.
The doom soldiers will crush all. Old enemies will be reunited on the front line, locking horns in a crusade, a monumental death match. Blood to be spilled and scores to be settled.
Unfurl the flags and sound the horns! For the heroes are keen to fight! ... but are the heroes blind to their own destruction? Deafened by their own propaganda?
Weapons are being readied. Armies moved. Plans being drawn.
But then the noise is broken by the sound of diplomatic whispering, spreading calm amongst the chaos. Soothing.
The drum stops. The engine is broken. Sputtering. Doves of peace fly from the castle.
Where is the Legion? The Army to kill all. The Master Puppeteer has spoken. Rumours grow of an army that has grown fat, gluttonous, greedy ... an army that can fight but perhaps does not want to.
Too much at risk perhaps?