"Axel," the Ironclaw called. "To me."

Axel nervously followed the furry, short humanoid into the room. The boy was shaking, smelling burnt metal, organic ash, and worst of all...

"No," Axel whispered.

There were many bolts and metal plates all over the place, machines reduced to scrap. A flash of light here, a spark there... The assembly line was ruined. Ever since the Usurpers had taken a hold on the Cradle, they had started to invade and destroy every moving thing in sight. The soulless creatures were truly soulless, as Axel had confirmed. They would have no mercy on anyone; neither creature nor machine was safe in the Cradle anymore, no longer safe within its warm embrace. The celestial entity that had been built as their home was being invaded by the Usurpers. Already, the gremlins had to deal with the infectious Swarm, and the Usurpers were cursed for unsealing them! Did they not listen to the whispers of Faust, the cursed heirloom sword? No, they wouldn't, they couldn't, it seemed.

Axel joined the twenty gremlins in the main assembly line of the Ironclaw Munitions Factory. Of these, ten were guards, and the other ten were just young ones. Axel was almost full grown by now, but he could not help but cry at the sight before him.

Crimson painted the cold, metal confines all around them. Of the twenty thousand that had worked in the factory, Axel's mother was one of the eighteen thousand that had been killed. There were only eighteen thousand before the other two thousand came with blow torches and sharp axes, ready to defend their home.

Not one had been spared.

Axel wept coldly, bitterly, not making a sound. The Usurpers would pay. He looked to his left and right. Small young ones knelt by cold furry bodies, their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. He and Uncle Crash had come to the factory to join the war.

Crash put a hand on Axel's shoulder, and squeezed.

"You will," he said.

Axel did not respond. His eyes widened when he saw a crimson robe pass by his right. It was hooded and ragged, long and stained with blood. A monotone tune came from the beast inside it, a female, by his judgement. She was chanting, holding a large golden staff, with a red hammer at the top.

Uncle Crash fell to the ground, along with the ten other guards that had been there.

"He was dead, child," the old crone said before Axel could think. "They all were."

Axel did not respond, understanding.

"Come."

Axel, and the ten other young ones followed.

It got darker as they proceeded. When the dark became pitch black, the old crone lighted a fire on the top of her hammer-staff.

"You all know of this ritual," she announced.

No one responded.

"Then I assume you are all ready."

She spun around, revealing her hideous face to the children's stoic silence.

"War is not easy."

They all nodded.

"War is costly."

They all nodded.

"We all must pay the price," she said grimly.

"And we will," Axel said.

Quick as lightning, the old crone grasped Axel's throat, and stuck the top of her staff into his mouth, putting out the hammer's flame. The boy was already feeling the effect of the magic, his eyes going up into his skull. Soon, his soul would begin to leave, and enter one of the dead bodies. The young boy would wake up feeling numb. It was needed. Then, he would enter the service as a Tenderfoot, an Ironclaw, or a Darkfang. The gremlins themselves were weak, unable to take any considerable beating against the Usurpers. The so-called "knights" had come to steal the heart of the world at the cost of ripping out every other heart of every other creature. There was one way, and only one way to fight against them. King Tinkinzar was the first to undergo the process. His Crimson Order was already ready to repeat the process.

The old crone began to chant:

"With sweat
The hammer and anvil
The seeds and soil
The Cradle and the grave
Were built

With blood
The dead will rise
The flame, rekindled
The forge, put to work
The fire will burn."

She smiled.

"WITH BLOOD AND FIRE!" she shrieked.