The leader of the assassin team looked back at his teammates. They all knew what they were going to have to do this day. When the Grandmaster came to them and asked their team to take this job, they knew that it would be a pain. Now they knew why; their mission was simple in concept; break into the imperial city and eliminate the man who is called Overlord. Just a single assassination. Surely, no trouble for the Order's best assassins.

He ducked back as he heard footsteps and the laughter of women. Their time was soon. His only hope was that the magikos from the order knew what they were doing. Around the neck of each of the four murderers was a cross pendant, formed out of a strange substance that they found in the wastes upon their arrival into this world. Upon further testing, it was revealed that the substance negated magic. That was their trump card against the Overlord, a man so magical that his skin was blue.

The leader could see them now. A red haired woman hung off his left arm and one that resembled the citizens of this city off the other. As they passed, he looked back at his team, nodded, and they sprung out of the alcove. Swords were drawn and swung at their hulking query. The women who were with him ducked and began to run, shouting out for anyone who could hear. One of his subordinates ran after them. The Overlord shot a bolt of lightning at the leader of his attackers. The bolt hit, but was absorbed into his pendant in a flash of azure. It was then that blood was finally drawn as the blade if the third assassin, who had gotten behind him dug itself into his chest, missing his heart by mere inches. The leader sneered as his target fell wheezing from the blood flowing into his lungs. Taking one last look at the man who had defeated the last Empire, his blade struck true and the head of the Overlord hit the marble floor with a thud.

There was no words to explain how pleased the Grandmaster was; he had thought that at least two teams would be needed, but he had gotten it in one! His second in command looked up at his master, awaiting orders. They came soon too, and the army of the Knights Templar matched into the imperial city.

The peasantry - namely everyone not related to the Overlord was overjoyed to see soldiers in glimmering armour cutting down the brown goblins who had oppressed them for so long.

The minions, on the other hand, weren't so happy. Their master was dead, and without him, there was no-one to lead them. A minion couldn't; that wasn't their place. Without a beacon to lead them, they were cut down at a steady pace.

With the garrison forces supplying minimal resistance, the armies of the Templars soon made it to the palace: a monolith of blackened marble and golden accents. There, the fighting was more intense. Minions fought to stop the invaders from reaching the Nethergate, but were being slowly pushed back as the piles of brown corpses grew. Even as their fellows were lot aflame or their commanders were assassinated leading men down the halls, the invaders marched onward. Dark hallways had their exotic art pieces stained red with blood, and their drapes burnt to a crisp, and eventually the Knights matched into the central chamber.

Before them stood a grand collection of hellish rocks, spikes protruding in all directions cradling a beam coming up from the core of the world itself. Beyond the ray of pure energy lay the Netherworld: the true target of their conquest. After his invasion was complete, the Overlord moved into the Imperial palace, leaving the Netherworld to hold the miniom hives and other such important objects.

Gnarl, in all his age had learnt to sense when his master was in danger; a perk of being the most powerful minion alive. Gathering the core circle of minions that the new master would need - namely Mortis, Giblet, and Quaker - he led them, and a handful of browns who were carrying the brown hive to a small passage, barely wide enough for the brown hive. Ushering them through, Gnarl sealed the passage, condemning all those left behind. Though it pained him to once more leave the other hives, there was no time and there were only so many minions who could be spared from the defensive effort. Leading his group of escapees in the flickering torchlight, they came across a mound of stone engraved with the head of a minion. This was the escape route; a tower gate powered by remnants of the old Towerheart. They lined up and shuffled into the most like energy originating from the small gateway, and left the tower.

The gate, using the last shards of its power deposited the minion entourage in the main hall of castle Spree - set up as a refuge by the father of their previous master after his conquest of the region. The browns carrying the hive scuttled off to the basement to find it a temporary home while what could be considered the minion aristocrats huddled in a circle.

"Be needing a new master we will," croaked Mortis, the butt of his scythe leaving an indent in the worn rug.

Gnarl hummed, "yes . . . We will."

"He be needing to be more powerful than last master. He be foolish letting himself be killed like that."

Gnarl frowned at Giblet for saying such a thing, sure; it was a silly way to die considering his past achievements, but everyone had their blunders. Besides, he was the son of perhaps the darkest master they had ever served.

"Mortis, can you feel anyone powerful enough to lead us?"

The pale blue minion hummed once more, "The daugther of Master may be felt, yet not the strongest be her power."

Gnarl's frown deepened as he stroked his thin beard, "Try . . . no, surely not . . . actually; that might work" he muttered, near unintelligible to his companions, "Look beyond our realm, surely there is one dark enough."

A faint glow radiated from the sole magic user among the four, "There is one. Very gifted he do be. Almost like - like, the Greatest Master be."

They all knew who Mortis was referencing; after all: who could be greater than he who became a god? "Reach out to him" commanded Gnarl