Emperor Brianos stormed down the long corridor, his long strides eating up the distance. Four guards marched in step behind him, their faces impassive and their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.
"That insolent Mikael Listowell," Brianos muttered to himself, his voice rising in indignation. "How is it that the Duke of a small territory in an inferior nation outmaneuvered me? Me, the Emperor?"
Even though a while had passed, the ruler of Adonis was still displeased by the outcome of the Rulers' Council.
The guards, of course, remained silent, their expressions unchanging. They had heard the Emperor's rants before, and they knew better than to interrupt him.
They passed by several people carrying books and parchments. They bowed down in respect to their ruler, but he was too lost in his rant that he didn't notice them and continued his monologue. They noticed this and quickly walked away before they'd become the target for the emperor to let out his frustrations.
"The Archadians have managed to close off the side that we had had access to. I had planned to cause a stir with this by instigating the other Rulers, and yet that cunning Duke managed to turn the tables on me," Brianos continued, his face reddening with anger.
"He played the other rulers like pawns, and I was left looking like a fool. Unacceptable!"
The guards' eyes flicked to each other; one shook his head, and the other sighed silently.
"Eh?!" The emperor turned to them, sensing the movement, but the guards looked ahead and remained impassive. They knew that the Emperor's anger was not to be trifled with and so remained silent.
"I lost ground on the trade agreements the moment I tried to make a move, and he even got the support from the goblins. Do you have any idea how bad that was for me?" Brianos fumed. The guards knew better than to answer and so kept mute.
"This is a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. Hey, are you even listening to me?"
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
"Honestly, I don't even know why I keep you guys around," the emperor said, then muttered a bit before they reached the end of the hallway, his chest heaving with exertion as the guards walked forward and pushed open the large metal doors. He turned to the guards, his eyes blazing with intensity.
"I will not be undone. In fact, this feeling of displeasure is what should motivate me to achieve the goal."
Beyond those doors was a large room where a lot of men and women clad in grey robes went about carrying out various experiments.
The laboratory was a cavernous space, its high ceilings crisscrossed with a network of copper pipes that hissed and clanked with the flow of steam. Light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting a warm glow upon the intricate machinery that filled the room. Gears turned with a rhythmic whir, and sparks flew from the various contraptions that lined the walls. A large, ornate clock hung on the wall, its gears ticking in time with the rhythmic pulse of the laboratory's machinery. The air hummed with the energy of countless experiments in progress.
One, a wiry man with perpetually smudged spectacles, tinkered with a complex array of gears and pistons, attempting to compress energy into small canisters filled with crystalline matrices. Sparks flew as he forced increasingly volatile substances. However, the can couldn't hold it and exploded. He stood staring at it for a bit, then pulled out a notebook and a pen and began to take notes, muttering as he did so. Nearby, another scientist, a woman with intricate clockwork prosthetics of her own design, worked on a more delicate project. She was developing cybernetic limbs, striving to create artificial muscles powered by compressed air and controlled by intricate neural interfaces. Her workbench was cluttered with wires, miniature gears, and anatomical drawings, evidence of her meticulous work.
The most unsettling experiments, however, were conducted in a secluded corner of the lab, where several human-sized glass capsules stood filled with a swirling, luminescent liquid. Within these capsules floated various forms of beings, some vaguely humanoid, others utterly grotesque and alien. One capsule contained a being that resembled a cephalopod, its tentacles writhing within the liquid. Another held a creature that seemed to be a fusion of plant and animal, its leafy appendages swaying gently. A tall, gaunt scientist, his face pale and drawn, monitored these strange specimens, occasionally injecting various serums and gases into the capsules. Whispers circulated among the other scientists with him as information on their progress was being exchanged.
Despite his bad mood, Emperor Brianos held the railing of the platform that descended down into the lab and smiled. This was the true power of Adonis. It was proof that human ingenuity far surpassed race and magic. This place in itself was a testament to how far they had come and how far they were going to reach.
This place was The Enclave.
The Enclave's history began 600 years ago, during the reign of Emperor Brion Megalorchus. Brion's pursuit of peace through diplomacy and compromise had led to a decline in his power and influence, as neighboring nations took advantage of his willingness to submit to their demands. Voltaire Clave, Brion's advisor, recognized this weakness as a threat to their nation's stability and prosperity.
Voltaire, a charismatic and cunning individual, gathered like-minded individuals who shared his vision of a stronger, more advanced humanity. They called themselves the Enclave, and their ultimate goal was to create a world where humans were the dominant force, unencumbered by the perceived weaknesses of magic.
Voltaire convinced Brion's son, Brianius, to join their cause, and together they orchestrated a coup that resulted in Brion's assassination. With Brianius as the new ruler, the Enclave began to shape the nation's policies and direction, promoting the advancement of human knowledge and technology as the key to their superiority.
The Enclave's ideology was rooted in the belief that humans were the superior race, and that their reliance on technology and science was the key to their dominance. They saw magic as a primitive and inferior force, and those who relied on it as weak and backwards.
Over the centuries, the Enclave has continued to promote their ideology through various means, including conquest. They have established themselves as a powerful and secretive organization, totally separate from the government of Adonis.
And all this in the name of the Deus Ex Machina, the Metallurgy God, Ignus.
They believe that Ignus represents the pinnacle of human achievement, and that their pursuit of technological advancement is a sacred duty to this deity.
Even today, after 600 years, Voltaire remains true to that goal, seeing to it that no Megalorchus would stray from the good path.
As Emperor Brianos descended into the grand hall of the Enclave, the researchers immediately fell silent, their eyes fixed on their ruler. With a synchronized motion, they turned to face him, placing a fist on their chest and bowing their heads in reverence.
Brianos stood tall, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room as he acknowledged their obeisance. After a moment, he nodded curtly and strode towards one of the large tanks filled with a glowing, ethereal liquid. The researchers parted to make way for him, then returned to their work.
As Brianos approached the tank, the figure within it stirred, its limbs twitching slightly. The Emperor's eyes narrowed, his interest piqued.
"You," he randomly called a young man who was studying nearby.
"Progress?" he asked, his voice low and commanding.
"We've made significant breakthroughs, Your Imperial Majesty. We've successfully cloned a Maajin, but... it's proving to be a challenge to stabilize its unique magical characteristics."
Brianos's expression darkened. "I don't pay you to make excuses; I pay you to deliver results. Hurry it up. I need to pay back those Archadian bastards for their insolence."
"Perhaps, Your Imperial Majesty, it would be wise not to rush the process. We wouldn't want to risk... unintended consequences." The emperor turned to the voice, and his hard expression softened a bit.
An old man whose apparent age defied the centuries etched into his weary eyes, sat amidst a tangle of brass pipes and hissing steam vents. His skin, though pale and crisscrossed with the fine lines of extreme age, was stretched tautly over his bones. Intricate clockwork mechanisms, interwoven with gleaming metallic tubing, were visible on the wheelchair on which he sat, pulsing with a rhythmic hiss and glow. Thin wires snaked from these devices, disappearing into his skin, being hidden by the robe. He had on a pair of cracked goggles, a contraption of gears, lenses, and gears. His hands, gnarled and spotted with age, rested on the arms of his chair, their movements slow and deliberate. He moved with a careful slowness, each gesture precise and measured, as if his aged body was a delicate machine, carefully maintained. The faint scent of ozone and machine oil clung to him like a shroud, a constant reminder of the intricate, steam-powered systems that kept his artificially prolonged life flickering on.
"It hasn't been long since you came from the Rulers' Council. Making a move now would by all means trigger the other nations, most especially Archadia," Voltaire said.
"We need to wait until their guard is down and strike. The remade Maajin army will be a force to be reckoned with, but preparations are incomplete. Remember what I taught you when you were twelve?"
"Don't rush things," the king responded automatically.
"Good boy. Now wait; soon, the whole world will be in our hands."
"But won't Archadia have caught up to us by then?" Brianos asked.
"Their steam-powered ships and trains? Do not worry, my boy. All of it is useless in front of us, the true masters of innovation."
Brianos's gaze lingered on Voltaire, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded curtly. "Very well. I will... consider your words. But I expect results, nonetheless."
"Good," Voltaire said as he wheeled away.
"Where are Black Moore and the Mad Pierrot?" the emperor asked.
"Black is currently taking part in a mission for us in the northern continent. As for the clown..... Well, no one really knows where he goes, so?"
"But are you sure we can trust mages such as them?" Brianos asked.
"The end justifies the means, my boy."
"They're just means to an end."
Behind one of the capsules, Gran peered at the old man and king.
"Means to an end?" He giggled.
"Oh, you have no idea," he said, smiling.