The Palace of the Kings of Marionis glittered in the rays of the setting sun. Its marble columns and gilded spires towered over the city as a symbol of unshakeable power. But inside, in the throne hall where monarchs once feasted, a tension now reigned so thick it felt as if the air itself had gained weight.
Torsken, the Lord of Marionis, sat upon the great throne. He looked like a wounded tiger—ferocious, exhausted, and, contrary to his nature, terrified. His servants had brought him here after he had gathered his last strength to teleport from the cursed Factory to the outskirts. Only the elite among the undead possessed such an art, and today, it had saved his life.
— It hurts, Harald! Curse you, how it hurts! — Torsken shrieked as the physician touched the wound on his shoulder.
Harald, a physician from a living clan who had long ago sold his soul to Torsken for the sake of power, leaned over him. He was a vile man: malice peeked through his movements, and his words were slick with sycophancy. Harald clearly aimed higher than just being a personal doctor, and he watched every weakness of his master with predatory intent.
— Endure it, my Lord, — Harald whispered in a low, fawning voice, changing the bandage. — The wound is deep, but I have applied the finest ointments. Another month, and you will be as good as new, once again shining in all your might.
— Why a month?! — Torsken struck the golden armrest with his healthy hand. — I don't have a month! I must see my affairs through to the end immediately! I have already dispatched and camouflaged two batches at the ruins of an old factory in the suburbs—that is twenty thousand Combat Mannequins! My army awaits my command, Harald!
The physician shook his head, not hiding the triumphant glint in his eyes.
— It will not work, my Lord. I must be honest with you, as your most loyal servant. That bullet from Henry... it was no ordinary shot. It is extremely dangerous; it was laced with a poison created specifically against those like you. This venom can strike you down entirely, my Lord, despite the fact that you are considered immortal.
Torsken froze. His eyes widened with a horror he could no longer conceal.
— What? — his voice broke into a rasp. — Strike me down? I... I never want to face that scoundrel Henry again! Never!
He fell silent, staring into space.
— I experienced fear before him for the first time, Harald. He has something... something against my magic. Something supernatural. And he has so many fighters! If I do not eliminate him now, I could lose everything. All of Marionis could slip through my fingers.
— And what of James Urban? — Harald asked snidely, adjusting his instruments. — Shall I order him to be dealt with?
— No, I will not touch him, — Torsken waved him off dismissively. — He is merely a pawn. A loud-mouthed fool. If Elisa becomes mine and Henry vanishes, James and his perpetually drunken father will simply have no choice. They will have to submit to my will. They will have no leader.
— And what if he still doesn't submit? — a voice spoke from the shadows.
It was General Hector the Ever-Living, the leader of the undead and an old enemy of Dex, whom they had failed to finish off in the last war. He stood by the window, looking out at the city, his armor gleaming coldly in the candlelight.
— Then we shall eliminate him as well, — Torsken replied coldly. — But that is a trifle. Right now, I am concerned about this... new hero beside Elisa. What is his name again?
Harald stepped closer, a serpentine smile playing on his lips.
— His name is Steve, my Lord. A simple clerk from a clothing store. He seems like a completely worthless boy.
Torsken suddenly burst into a loud, raspy laugh, though every movement caused him agony.
— Ha-ha-ha! Steve? A clerk?! Do you hear this, Hector? He is no hero. He is not strong like Henry, nor dangerous like James. I will crush him easily when the time comes. A common ant, imagining himself a protector.
— He only seems like a worthless boy! — Harald tilted his head, his voice becoming suspiciously soft.
— Yes, — Torsken groaned, wincing from the pain again. — Just a random passerby.
— No, Torsken! You are mistaken. He is no simpleton at all! — Harald straightened up library-abruptly. — I have made inquiries. This Steve is a descendant of Hall and Dex themselves. But that is not even the most terrifying part. He is the son of the former Sheriff and Chief of Police—the legendary Duncan Kellark!
A deathly silence hung in the hall. Torsken froze, his face turning gray as ash.
— What? — he whispered. — That is dog's trash! Duncan Kellark vanished long ago! It cannot be!
— No, my Lord, it is the truth, — the physician continued, relishing Torsken's panic. — He is the son of Duncan himself, who was no less a hero than all his ancestors. The blood of the protectors of Marionis flows within him.
Torsken let out a roar, a sound so full of pain and rage that Harald involuntarily stepped back.
— It hurts! It hurts even more! — the villain wailed, clutching his wounded shoulder. — This means... this means that the hero of a new legend has been born! Steve and Elisa—the Double Star of Marionis! That cursed light that ignites every time the world is on the brink! Let the enemies of Sacred Marionis tremble! Oh, noooo!
He gasped for air, looking at General Hector.
— Hector! Hear my command! We cannot wait for them to grow stronger!
General Hector the Ever-Living stepped into the center of the hall, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the marble floor.
— I am listening, My Lord.
— Assemble the third batch! Another ten thousand Combat Mannequins! Immediately! Send them to that camouflaged warehouse in the old docks to join the other twenty thousand. We must have an army that no legend can stop. Thirty thousand of my warriors will wipe this Factory and this "Star" off the face of the earth! We will bury them under our sheer mass! Go!
— It shall be done, my Lord, — Hector turned and left, his footsteps echoing for a long time in the vast palace.
Torsken slumped back against the throne, his eyes burning with a desperate fire.
— Double Star... — he whispered. — We shall see how brightly you burn when a legion of plastic and darkness descends upon you.
Harald leaned over him once more, hiding a smile behind a vial of medicine.
— Drink, my Lord. You need your strength for the war to come.