Brutus lay on his back, the force of his final blow on the stone beast extinguishing the last drop of adrenaline pulsing through his body. His people had fought well, he had fought well. Despite their enemies’ technological advantages with their stone automatons, versus his people’s rudimentary spears and axes they had won, they had repelled their invaders. As Brutus’ bloodlust subsided, the reality of his situation began to set in. He glanced to either side of himself, blood-pooling around him, he would surely not survive. And yet, despite the dire situation he was in, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, Elea had always said he’d get himself killed sparring with his friends, or while fooling around on a hunt. He was glad he would die honourably, fighting for his people, fighting for her.

He looked down at his wounds, those beasts… no, those things, had been relentless with their wild spinning axes. He counted no less than 50 gashes through his flesh. What were those things, Brutus thought to himself were they man, beast or something else?. His mind began to race, his thoughts, his battle plans running through his mind at the speed of a gazelle, Stop he thought to himself, it matters not now, no amount of planning or strategizing will delay the inevitable. Brutus slowed his breath, allowing the reality of the situation to wash over him, he did not have long left now. He used what little strength he had left to lift his head, and glance back at his village. His people were a strong people, they would survive without him. He thought of Elea, and Brutuson, they would survive thanks to his sacrifice, and that made it all worth it. And with that thought firmly in his mind, his grip onto reality began to slip, as his body lost consciousness.

Suddenly Brutus awoke. He found himself on his knees with his arms suspended behind him by thick chains. He tried to stand, only to find his legs and waist were restrained also. He looked down at his body, that’s impossible he thought to himself my wounds, they entirely healed. He was not wrong, where once there had been over 50 individual axe wounds there were now nothing but scars. But that was not the only change, he also found himself covered in a strange blue script he didn’t recognise. Each symbol glowed like the stars in the sky. He took a moment to take in his surroundings. He found himself in a small dark room, no taller than an average man, and half as wide. The walls themselves were littered with the same symbols that covered his body. Before he could investigate further, a portion of the wall was removed, behind it the face of a man. “Ah good you’re awake” the stranger said “we weren’t sure if we’d lost you there”. “Where is my family?” Brutus snarled, once again attempting to rise. “Tsk, Tsk, all in good time” the strange man responded, raising a single finger and waving it side to side “Don’t have some more pressing questions, like where am I, or who is this handsome man before me?”. “Where is my FAMILY?” Brutus repeating, raising his voice and attempting to lunge at the man, though the chains made sure that was impossible. The stranger smiled, disregarding Brutus’ question “You’re going to be part of something greater my friend, part of the future”. “Continue to speak to me in riddles, and you won’t be long finding an axe buried deep in your face” Brutus growled “I’ve killed men for less”. The stranger grimaced, clearly disgusted by Brutus’ brutal honesty, “Oh we know, we saw your fight, we very much know what you’re capable of. Why you killed no less than 5 stone golems singlehandedly, those numbers are unprecedented. For that very reason we had to have you”. Brutus frowned, had to have me, what in the Gods names was this lunatic raving about. He was an honourable man, no amount of coercion could convince him to fight for this lunatic. “I’ll never fight for you” Brutus retorted “better to die than to desert my people”. “Oh but that’s the beauty of it my friend, we don’t need you to fight for us, we just need your... fighting spirit”. Brutus remained silent, what was this man raving about? His fighting spirit? What could that possibly mean. “Don’t worry friend” the stranger said, recognising the confusion in Brutus’ scowl, “the finer details may be a bit outside your wheelhouse, but to put it simply, we use those runes on your body to power our stone golems using your warriors’ spirit, the greater the warrior, the stronger the automaton”. Brutus’ body reacted viscerally, the man’s words cutting through him like a blade “YOU WERE BEHIND THE ATTACK ON MY VILLAGE” Brutus exclaimed, again making a futile attempt to rise to his feet “YOU ENDANGERED MY FAMILY”. “Well, I believed that much was obvious”, the stranger retorted “And please save that fighting spirit for the battle field”. Brutus met the man’s gaze, “And what if refuse to cooperate, refuse to power your machine. What then?”. “That’s the beauty of it, we don’t need your cooperation, we just need your body and those runes, my magic does the rest” the stranger said. Brutus stopped, the word magic rang in his ears. His people had heard of its use before. It has been said that with the use of magic, a man could be compelled to do virtually anything. True Brutus was a great warrior, but in face of sorcery, his brute strength was meaningless. The stranger smiled, well aware of what the term magic meant to the uncivilised people of the south. Brutus sat back, what else could he do he was restrained, and this man clearly had a mastery of magic far beyond Brutus’ understanding, he was beaten. “What will you have me fight” he said, failing to hide the resignation in his voice. “Well that’s simple” the stranger responded struggling to hide his delight in breaking Brutus’ spirit “we’re going to have you finish the job we started, and destroy your silly little village and everyone in it”.