A childlike insect rushed. It strode with wide steps inside the dusky halls, with each step echoing hollowly in the dusky corridors. Two of the hands it possessed carried an item: one held a crudely written report, and another held a steely adjustable wrench.

It barged through an oaken door, panting heavily through its canine head; a look of worry painted very clearly on its face.

"Master Prometheus! Master Prometheus! Torc had met resistance in Townston, and fell. A blue bear appeared, and had demonstrated ability to injure our elite," the insectoid creature announced.

The room remained relaxed, as if the creature's announcement was not alarming. A brightly burning fireplace provided the room heat and yellow light; a plush wine red rug carpeted the center, while a chic leather chair facing the fire sat above it.

A sturdy man sat on the chic chair, and turned to look at his most loyal servant. Distaste of the unfashionable entrance hung upon its face, and his canine-headed servant shifted uncomfortably under its mahogany shell. His snake-like eyes glared at the diminutive servant, and his slit pupils narrowed.

"Fodder, who is this warrior who appeared out of the blue?"

"We don't know much of this indigo fighter's background. We only know of his name which is Hero's Prophecy," the insectoid servant, Fodder, answered, clutching the handwritten report with two hands, careful to not crease it. It wrote the report in such a clean script that it was almost indistinguishable by one made from a computer and printer.

Upon hearing the name, Prometheus' eyes widened. He shot up from his throne, somewhat alarmed. His dark blue rain robe flowed in the still air, and his chartreuse scales glistened in the fiery light. He flicked its tongue out, while his mind wandered to look for an adequate answer. This went for a few awkward moments.

"Master?" Fodder quietly asked. "Should we send out assassins?"

"No, but have him be watched closely."

"Understood, Master." And so, the little dog-bug left the room, set to deliver its master's orders.

Prometheus continued standing in the room, thinking, contemplating. He occasionally tapped a foot. A venomous scowl formed on its face. He angrily stared at the empty and quiet walls. It seemed that the pieces were coming into place, and the prophecy about to begin.