"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" it asked. "Some of those creatures are valuable in so many other ways. Their properties, knowledge and abilities make them a threat in their own right. If the enemy were to capture them, they would have access to some most unusual and powerful magic. What about the safety of the creatures themselves? Surely they don't deserve to meet their end in a fight that isn't theirs?"
These were all questions that the king had asked himself over the last few hours. It was a risk, that was for sure. However it played out in his mind though, he could see no course of action other than to release the deadly predators, and hope that they would make their way out of the building to relative safety, and that they could be rounded up and brought under control after this crisis had been averted, if indeed such a thing were even possible. On top of all of that, they just might inconvenience their enemy and provide enough of a distraction for... for what? An escape? Unlikely! For the chance of a counter attack? In that lay madness. But who knew? Perhaps fighting madness with madness was all that was left. So with the ringing thoughts echoing throughout his head, the king, muscles straining, despite the fact that this was all playing out in his mind, turned the red wheel anti-clockwise until all the lights on the console turned red. It was done. Now all they had to do was wait and see if it made any difference.
Half a dozen nagas disguised as humans had been assigned by Manson to break into the basement of the council building and ascertain the situation of the beasts in the capture and detain level. He'd stressed it was an important task, leaving unsaid that he was looking for some very old and very powerful magic. Nearly ten hours they'd been at it, and still they'd barely scratched the door, let alone looked like getting in. Bathed in the green light from the lamp above the entrance, it almost seemed to be mocking their efforts. Of course none wanted to report back to the psychopathic Manson that they'd failed to get in, so they continued, throwing magic, might, mana and metal at the seemingly indestructible door beneath the faintly pulsing green light.
Powered by the king's ring, the mantras used in the basement of the council building to contain the highly magical and, in general, deadly creatures that resided there, are among the most complex and powerful on the planet. Not only designed to keep said creatures separate from each other, they also replicate, down to the finest detail, the exact environment of each and every specimen in their care, as well as looking after each individual's needs on a minute by minute basis. Those beings contained want for nothing, and never go hungry, go without company or fear for their lives. This is how the dragons rationalise their incarceration of the beasts. Massive amounts of power are required to maintain the mantras, with the king's ring really the only viable option as a source, given the huge consumption.
Eerie green light surrounded each huge pen, showing that the mantras were working, and that the beasts within were contained. Row upon row of pens faded off into the distance for as far as the eye could see. Also, it was cold, like the frozen aisle of a supermarket... another precaution in case the worst should ever happen, and the creatures were somehow set free. Most would be slowed by the cold, but not all. With no one there to see, and without a sound, the green lights of the pens suddenly switched off, throwing row after row into darkness. Brutally the silence was shattered by piercing shrieks, ungodly wails, the clattering of hooves all accompanied by the underlying sound of scuttling, hissing and buzzing. If nightmares were ever to come to life, this is how they'd do it.
Standing back from the shield, the king examined all the troops around him. Some were sharpening their talons on the side of massive chunks of rock, others exercised, while a few sat on the ground, meditating, their thoughts somewhere far, far away. He envied them. Since having witnessed TROYDENN'S image on the computer monitor, it was all that he could think about, the hell that his ex-friend had gone through, and the twisted, dark thoughts that clearly now consumed him. For him to be here now, heading the dangerous, deadly, despicable army, clearly intent on taking the planet, the suffering he would have endured must have been unimaginable. All he knew now was that whatever happened, things didn't bode well for his survival.
A tiny tickle surprised him enough to jolt him away from the morose thoughts. It was the ring, indicating that his will had been done, and all its power had been diverted away from the basement of the council building, and transferred to the shimmering blue shield he stood in front of. He was grateful for that, hoping that the extra power might buy enough time for a solution to present itself, but wondered exactly what was going on in the bottom of the adjacent building.
It started as a swarm. Nifoloa to be precise, their buzzing sounding like a million miniscule drums all beating at once. Angry drums at that. With what they'd perceived as reality abruptly torn away from them, and the outer layer of protection stripped from around their pen, with the absence of the mantra, they started in unison, all hacking away at the walls with the single sharp tooth that they each had, the one that was the size of a man's finger. In only a matter of moments, they'd shredded their way through one of the walls and were flying in and out of the passages between all the other pens, looking for a target into which to inject their deadly poison. That was just the start.
In a far off darkened corner, amongst the howls, mewling, baying and whistling, a decidedly angry pack of skrikers gnawed a small hole just above ground level, and were currently fighting each other over just who should go through first. Paws, fur and teeth flew. Savage, bloody wounds abounded. Thick dark blood pooled on the floor.
Usually more at home in a waterborne environment, dozens of camaheutos skittered along the outside walls of the pens, having already gouged out dozens of tiny little gullies beneath their prison's walls with their razor sharp clawed feet. Natives of Chile, they had no trouble in thinking of a human as their prey. They might well even consider taking down a dragon, should the opportunity present itself. Confident didn't really do them justice. However, they were unaware of what other dangers lurked in the bowels of this building.
Exhausted from their efforts, the half dozen nagas that had been tasked to break into the basement all sat either on or against massive unopened crates, just opposite the unbreakable door. Their mood was dour, thoughts of retribution for their failure from the psychopath Manson ran through all their minds. Without warning, the constant green light that had been their companion and their enemy throughout their tireless efforts flickered off into nothing, accompanied by the tiniest sound of well oiled metal moving. Immediately they were all on their feet, astounded at what had just happened. Knowing looks and what passed for smiles on the false human bodies they wore were all evident as the group as one approached the seemingly unpowered door. 'Manson will be pleased,' was the gist of what was running through each of their minds. The leader, by virtue of some kind of seniority, grasped the metre long metal handle and yanked it brutally downwards, not really sure what to expect. Both magical and physical seals were broken. Fetid, damp air could be faintly heard escaping. As their leader pulled the door open, the others looked on, pleased at having completed their assigned tasks.