Introduction
Virulax coughed as he flailed around. He felt something solid strike his arms, and he grabbed on. He was overwhelmed by the sense of vertigo as the giant spoon lifted him out of the muck. He hang on, and waited for the flick of the spoon to deposit him onto solid ground. But it never came. Virulax opened his eyes, licking the slime off his eyelids first. He was hanging by his fingers above an ocean-sized pus-filled cauldron. And he was looking directly into the eyes of his Grandfather.
'Virulax, Virulax, my wayward child' - rumbled a distant thunder. The voice was not unkind, but it showed a measure of disapproval. 'It is twice now in as many days that I must lift you out of my cauldron again.'
'Grandfather!' - sputtered Virulax, spitting and gurgling to clear his throat. 'Give me more troops! I shall prove worthy of your approval once more!'
A giant red eye closed in the distance. Wind blew - tired exhaling.
'Very well. You will get your chance. Take the Drones of the Plague. They shall serve you well.'