"They're all dead. I'm the last one left. Everyone who serves you ends up dead or surrendering."
The voice crackled over the radio. Reception was not as good, now the satellites were down, but they could still get messages to and from the commanders. Even if there was only one commander left.
"I heard that they were doing something to the Gates," the hapless commander continued. "I think they're closing them - or they've been closed. It's hard to tell. Something about a mountain and a huge pit."
Around the table, Graham Lot, Al'Magroth, and the mages known only as Z and W sat. They were in the Ocean Palace, the last bastion, the last fortress, the last hope. And they were listening to the last report of their last commander.
"It's hopeless, my Lord. So I've recorded this message, and set it to play in an hour. I've stashed the radio behind a rock. If you're listening, obviously nothing interfered with it. I'm taking my leave of your service. I'll leg it overland, hide out in some country town, till the hype is died down. There's nothing left for you here. And there's nothing left for me. Commander Brachis, over and out."
The radio fell silent. "It's over, then," W said. "The Gates of Hell were our last hope. You heard the report yesterday. Magroth Industries has been blown sky high. Without the Magroth Bots to enforce it, Shireroth is 'meh' to sending us more forces. Novatainia has been reclaimed; and there are no more demons coming anytime soon. We've no armies, no factories, no magic."
"Not necessarily," Z replied. "We've got six Typhoon Class Submarines. And this Ocean Palace, of course."
"Six?" Graham Lot said. "I'd make it five. There was one stationed at Magroth Industries. By all reports, Magroth Industries was an inside job. You can bet that they're on that last sub, and on their way here now."
"So we tell the others to sink it to the depths of the ocean," Z replied. "Then we're practically unassailable. It's not like people can get into the Ocean Palace without magic or submarines, and the other five can take down anything short of an armada. And there's the Kraken to consider."
"You'd have us hide here?" W asked.
"Where better to hide?" Z answered. "One of the mightiest fortresses on Micras, built to withstand anything. It stood for thousands of years here, and then we upgraded it, remember. With the Jasonian subs to defend us, as well as a Kraken, nothing's going to get in here anytime soon."
"Except they know we're here," W replied. "Everyone knows we're here. And the Kildarian government will give them exact coordinates, no trouble. PRH, they'd pay for the submarines to take out our defenders themselves. No, we need to leave, while we still can. Take a sub - take four subs, even. Go our separate ways."
"Where would we go?" Z asked. "We're surely the most wanted men and woman on Micras now?"
"Oh, there are ways and means," Graham Lot said casually. "Even now I could still change your appearance so completely your own mother wouldn't recognise you. We could easily sink into the background. We could go to the forests of Elwynn - wouldn't be hard to be lost there. Or to the other side of the world - you'd fit into Stormark no trouble, Z. No, running and hiding would be easy."
"So that's what we should do," W said. "Leave this place and melt into the background. Make the most of our lives while we still have them. Besides, isn't there a Gates of Hell in Istvanistan?"
"I would advise against that," Al'Magroth said. "While no doubt we could get safely back to Hell, those who have failed on this world are punished most severely. If we were to hide, it would be better on this world than in Hell."
"So don't hide," Z suggested. "We should stay here, unassailable, unreachable. How long can you imagine Null lasting on this world? The only reason my people would not be out in the tunnels rioting already is that they can see it's helpful to defeat the Dark Lord. Once that hype's down, magic will be restored, and we can restore too. Lot, you were in Novatainia how long after the Dark Lord contacted you?"
"After Al'Magroth contacted me?" Graham Lot said, with a laugh. "I know how to blend in and work my way up, if that's what you're asking. But I have had enough of hiding and building up. Practically every evil on this world skulks in the shadows, hiding, biding it's time, building up for that final push. No more. I will not leave and hide."
"Then we'll stay," Z declared. "Take out that rogue submarine, change the access codes, and we're laughing. They'll never get in."
"No," Al'Magroth answered. "No, we shall let that sub come in. And we shall use it to bring them in."
"Are you mad?" Z said incredulously.
"To return to Hell alive but a failure would be unforgivable," Al'Magroth told them. "But to return to Hell dead, but having taken some of the most powerful people of this world with us ... Number One might still reward me."
"I quite agree," Graham Lot said. "It is the most interesting option, and also, the one that this world least expects us to do. Running and hiding is standard. Standing and fighting the final fight - our infamy and courage shall be sung of for centuries. Besides, there is The Key."
"Indeed," Al'Magroth said. "This world shall remember us when we are gone. So I will have no more talk of leaving, nor of defending. We shall meet these people head on. If we win, this world remains ours for the taking. If we lose, we'll leave them with something to remember us by."
Summary: Al'Magroth and friends prepare for the final battle.
