The tides and breezy waves whipped over the Atlantic Ocean. Off the western coast of Morroco, a secret lay hidden, a secret... kept hidden for thousands of years...

"Artemason! Ready the men!" 
"Sir, we have none, they've all fled back to the barracks!"
"I don't care where they are, the Gods are attacking! Quickly, get back inside!"
The commanding officer stood on the great cities main hall. He looked around the giant temple, the temple he and his people had constructed over hundreds of hours of work. The white pillars, hard and strong, rose 60 feet up in the air, supporting the giant pediment, 70 feet across. The ornamental designs and statues on there, representing the Gods in their real might, in battle, and in faith, charged across the temple, leading each other through the fray of pale, gleaming quartz.

He looked upon these marvelous creations, and in his clean robe, he knelt on the floor, and prayed. 

The God's in their wrath at Atlantis, their horrible wrath, had delivered a blow so mighty, it had been foretold by some of the inland Greek prophets and wise wanderers. Eight horrendous Cyclop's had been sent so far, and each had been slain by Imperigo's men. As he kneeled on that cold, hard stone, he remembered those soldiers, and how they had served him, through life and death. He remembered his family, back in their safe home, protected from the deities which controlled all. 

He knelt there, in his last few moments of life, and thought to himself. About things, about life, about death, and most importantly, about his people. Imperigo was the ruler of Atlantis, proud, strong, and intelligent. He had not been known to encourage the lazy or weak; he led his people with drive, motivation. Something about the man the God's liked. And feared.

400 years ago, Imperigo's great-grandfather had allied with Troy in the war against the God's. They had just now been seeked out for vengeance.

Poseidon summoned the largest wave mankind had ever seen; the whitewash knocked out the great temples frontal pillars, collapsing the pediment, dragging it straight into the ocean. As the water slowly engulfed the island city, the lower levels became filled with the water. Poseidon had been waiting for this moment for hundreds of years; he created wave after wave of brutal punishment, beating the city down to a mere dust before the night was over. As the souls of the lost floated up towards the heavens, to rejoin their comrades, some were sent back down.

Among those sent was Imperigo. In his last breathing moment, he swore to protect every last part of his city, no matter where he was. The God's granted him this last wish. Imperigo became the Golden Guardian, the title only a King, and a true man can behold and own. Imperigo was sent to defend Atlantis from the above-ground, sent to the darkest reaches of the sea. And to this day, there he remains, with the soul of the dead glowing in his chest.