Elsie gasps in sheer awe, nearly teary-eyed. Briana cusses silently, blinking in disbelief.

For my part, I stare at Revelling Inc's creation, mute with emotion.

I never imagined she would look so... Real.

The Estranged Elf, like all of The Inceptor's conceptions, has an unreal quality to her. However, like all of them, she is devoid of her enchanted abilities. Technically speaking and from a cynical point of view, the undeniably beautiful creature is a shell of flesh with an organic brain. But isn't that the definition of a human being, short of a soul?

She is the definition of wonderful.

The crowd is positively freaking out, and the speakers around us crackle loudly to blast their sound over their insanely excited clamors.

"INTRODUCING TO REALITY..! REVELLING INC'S FIRST SENTIENT CHARACTER: SYNDOR, KNIGHT OF THE ESTRANGED!"

My ears are beginning to ring from the hysteric screams of the fans, however I am captivated by the Elf. I barely register that some of my bosses have descended from their exclusive balconies to speak to their guests, lining themselves up next to a podium to the left-hand side of the stage.

Syndor is wearing her iconic black and gold gothic cuirass, engraved with the emblem of The Black Ram. Her violet-colored cloak is unmistakable and swooshes gently behind her, reaching only the top of her boots, as she steps slowly around her glass compartment. The artificial woman must be at least eight feet tall and possesses the same proportions as her character art. Bluntly, she is muscular with unnaturally plump breasts.

The Elf knight is heading closer to the bulletproof glass panel, contemplating the audience with a perplexed expression. We are seated merely six meters away from the reinforced translucent partition. From this distance, I can properly discern the ink black scars around one of her eyes. The birthmarks spout in all directions from her iris and unto her skin, resembling the pattern of an eery sun or of a spider's legs.

Admiring the character, I poke my best friend's arm to reiterate, "The first sentient card to exist..! Isn't she incredible?"

A fraction of the amalgam of people are listening to the organizers' speeches, resulting in a lessened level of noise.

My childhood friend slowly slips her fingers off my knee, leaving a cold mark against my skin, through my pants, where there once was the unbearably delightful heat of her palm.

"When you say 'sentient', you mean..." I am destabilized by the concern that is laced in her unimpressed voice. "Do you mean she knows that she's trapped in there?"

Before I can find an appropriate answer to give Briana, the announcer hurls more exciting news at the crowd.

"SYNDOR, KNIGHT OF THE ESTRANGED, IS GIFTED WITH SPEECH! WATCH HOW SHE REACTS TO THE APPEARANCE OF THE SACRED BLADE OF SUNRISE!"

The faint groaning and clicking of a pulley resonates from the ceiling as a platform is lowered from the summit of the extraordinarily tall room, above the crowd. A cube of sparkly resin sits on the square surface, encasing The Sacred Blade of Sunrise. The magical sword from the game is usually featured on Syndor's card, she wields it by default, so it is not available as an independent object. Logically, they had to confiscate it from her upon her birth into our world.

The Wonder - a term Revelling Inc coined to refer to the inhabitants of the Wonderworld - gawks at the golden hilted sword which should be rightfully hers. An air of hope molds her traits, and she briskly mimics the gesture of unsheathing it, although her weapon is evidently not hanging from her hips, before brandishing her empty fist above her head.

She proudly bellows, "Estranged blood is stronger than The White Wolf. All for Psychadelle!"

The microphones inside her glass box have not even finished transmitting her message that the crowd erupts into whooping, clapping and ecstatic cheering. Their excessive reaction is understandable because the words she has spoken compose the quote that is printed on her card.

Disharmonious voices chant in echo: "ALL FOR PSYCHADELLE! ALL FOR PSYCHADELLE! ALL FOR PSYCHADELLE!"

Psychadelle is the main fictional city from the universe of Crusade of Wonders. It is home to The Citadel of the Righteous, which Syndor serves as the head knight of a legendary team of elite warriors: the battalion of The Estranged.

Equally grating voices shout among them in protest: "ABYSMALICE IS THE CHALICE OF TRUTH! ABYSMALICE IS THE CHALICE OF TRUTH!" 

The lore of the game expands with every passing year, but the writers have always made sure to emphasize that neither Psychadelle or Abysmalice is free of blame for the ruthless war that rages between the two rival nations. Whoever wronged the other first will always remain a mystery, especially since their animosity is born from the two realms worshipping enemy gods. Some of the media produced by Revelling Inc implies that the real culprits are the aforementioned deities, The Black Ram and The White Wolf, who are rumored to have ignited this conflict because their common hatred was so raw that they felt the need to pit their followers against each other.

The divide between real players of the card game is more sportive than seriously problematic, seeing as any Deck is generally better with diverse cards, anyway.

Syndor brings her arm down and stares at her empty hand, then back at her powerful blade, trapped in silicone. Whilst the crowd is quieting to listen to my superiors' chatter, the Elf is watching us. And I'm watching her with my unequivocal attention.

Her lustrous green eyes rise to the ceiling, and she seems to suddenly notice the bulletproof glass cages that are built into the walls of the enormous reception hall. The flickering of her eyeballs is indicative that she is reviewing the creatures inside of them. An unexpected smirk pulls the corners of her pink lips.

The Estranged Elf decisively steps back inside her transparent prison, and the speakers project the satisfying sound of her heavy leather and metal boots flattening the synthetic grass inside her temporary habitat. This noise brings some of the audience's focus back to her, exactly as she lifts both of her arms.

In an instant, her orbits light up with blinding light, which spreads into the black crevices around her left eye socket. Her long threads of golden hair simultaneously levitate off her shoulders, followed by her cape, whisking without wind.

"The Sacred Blade of Sunrise is mine and mine alone to hold, for I am Syndor, Knight of The Estranged!" she proclaims, ceremoniously.

My firefighter friend jumps out of her chair as the block of glittering resin blows up into chunks. The Sacred Blade of Sunrise, defying all and any laws of physics or nature, regains its signature sunrise colored glow from the game and flies as quickly as an arrow, aimed towards its mistress.

The sword collides with the translucent surface and shatters the ENTIRE pane of bulletproof glass on impact. The collection of gasps and baffled yells that follows is drowned out by the loud crashing of glass.

Briana promptly grabs Elsie and I by the shoulders in each of her arms, jerking us away from the stage and tackling us on the floor.

Screams of pain and cries fill my ears, but I only feel a light pattering against my blazer's back and in my hair. The weapon's cut has rippled through the material, sending a curtain of glass shards scattering in every possible direction.

I do not have time to watch my surroundings further or check up on our young friend before the buff woman drags us, half inside her shielding embrace, to the side of the room. The blonde and I stumble behind her when she lets go. We watch in bewilderment as she pries open an emergency case which is embedded in the wall to pull out a fire axe. The axe is painted in the same flamboyant red as the fire extinguisher that occupies the remaining space inside the incidentally red box.

Elsie clasps her laptop bag against the side of her body, tugging at the strap which is wrapped diagonally across her torso.

Fiddling with a lion brooch, she asks, "What's going on, Brawler?"

"Yeah, what are you do..?" I concur, interrupted by a blood-curling and most assuredly inhuman howl.

Briana points behind me with the short axe, and I spin to witness a terrifying vision.

A Traprel is protruding outside of its cage, suspended in the fractured hole with its gnarly little paws around pieces of glass. Traprels are similar to lanky squirrels, if squirrels had color-changing fur, could stretch their limbs four times the size of their bodies and possessed a gaping mouth over their stomach. Oh, and they can imitate the calls of any animal.

And break bulletproof glass, apparently.

To my greatest dismay, the Traprels are not the only creatures with absolutely no regard for the inflated prices of manufacturing customized bulletproof containers with breathing accommodations. Solid glass cages are imploding left, right and center, punctuated with beastly screeches and panicked wails from the crowd. Petrified, I observe the creatures escape their prisons and leap into the mass of helpless fans, journalists and employees.

It's only when an Owl Headed Viper spits a stream of viscous venom which melts the skull of its twin that I realize what is unfolding before my eyes.

Their powers have awakened.

The Elf who is likely the cause of this catastrophe is running with her glowing sword through the crowd, trampling anyone who is unfortunate enough to be in her way. She is heading directly for the team of security guards who are huddled around the high ranking Revelling Inc administrators.

Fascinated, I notice two Winged Crocodiles are smashing through the precedently intact glass home of a herd of Razorspine Seahorses to attack their typical prey. The small iridescent seahorses, squealing and hopping around without rhyme or reason, seem to have forgotten that their spines are made of razor blades. According to common lore, they often use them to slice themselves free from the inside of their predator's jaws.

Meanwhile, my corporation's executives are scrambling away from Syndor and some of them have even ditched their bodyguards to go faster and blend into the crowd. The Knight of the Estranged swipes her sword in a curved motion, shouting a magical command. An overwhelming ray of pure purple light slashes into the atmosphere, concurrently tearing apart the stomachs or legs of four Revelling Inc officials and six unlucky guards. Stomping carelessly over their decimated bodies and the spreading pool of blood, she single-handedly lifts a wriggling man from the ground, whose lower legs are missing.

I twist to face my friends. Tears are welling up in Elsie's eyes, which are magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses.

I begin questioning my best friend, "How did you..?"

The brunette woman snaps, cutting me off. "I'm wondering how you didn't see this coming, really. Thought you were all about predictions... That door we took to get here, can we get out that way?"

I am too pleased by Briana's authoritative tone to care about her jeer concerning my intellect. 

A worrying fraction of the fans who came here disguised as characters have decided to attempt fighting the creatures or befriending them. These futilities are keeping the beasts busy, which might allow us to reach an emergency exit undetected.

I nod affirmatively. "We can if we hurry."

The firefighter strides ahead without a word, instructing us to follow her with the sheer strength of her stance. Granted, we have been accustomed to respecting her leadership from our first years of life.

The three of us make haste and we have nearly crossed half the distance; we are presently treading alongside the West wall of the room.

Revelling Inc staff members, in their bright reddish orange shirts, are elbowing and kicking their way through the section of the crowd that is filtering out of the hall by the main entrance. Costumed, and probably desperate, guests are still attacking or failing to tame the uncaged animals.

Syndor's booming voice makes us instinctively stop in our tracks, along with the majority of beings in here. The Elf is back at the center of her destroyed vivarium. Dazzling in the spotlight, she is lifting the legless, almost deceased person at arm's length.

"Fellow Wonders! Kill them and we shall be forever freed!"

She effortlessly impales the human with her coruscant sword, spilling more of his severed legs' blood in front of the stage.

A chorus of grunts, roars, whistling and ululations covers the sound of his body hitting the floor.