Deep within a vast, metallic fortress, glowing with ancient technology and pulsating energy. Lyric the Ancient, coiled in the shadows, watches over his dominion. His emerald scales glimmer under flickering lights as his cold, calculating eyes fixate on the chaos unfolding outside.

“Ah… the world above continues to march blindly toward ruin, just as I foresaw. Their machines… their greed… their relentless hunger for power. Pitiful creatures, unaware of the force they awaken.” He lets out a low, menacing hiss, his claws curling against the metallic floor. “But I… I have always known the truth.”

[He slithers forward, his voice growing colder and more venomous.]

“Evolution demands domination. Strength is not measured by foolish ideals of friendship or trust. No… survival belongs to those who control the very forces that shape existence.” His gaze narrows, voice dripping with disdain. “The so-called heroes, with their mindless bravado… they think they can stop me? They will learn.”

He raises a claw, activating ancient symbols etched into the walls. A surge of power hums through the air.

“This technology… this knowledge… it was never meant for their fragile hands. I am the last of the Ancients, the only one who truly understands its potential. And with it, I will reshape this world—not for them, but for me.”

The fortress rumbles as his machines come to life, ready to enact his grand design.

“Prepare yourselves, for the age of machines… and my dominion… begins now.”