True Magician

Chapter 87

Close to the capital.

Five minutes. It had only been five minutes, and the landscape in front of me had already turned into a bloodbath.

The horde of life, like an avalanche, was rushing towards the walls of the capital to destroy and raze everything that humans and half-humans had built, slaughtering, gnawing, and tearing the creators. They hadn't reached the wall yet, but the ground had already turned into a sea of red that stained the once green grass and dusty earth.

Arrows, spears, bullets, grenades. All of these pierced wings, tore fur, tore off limbs, turned every member of the horde they could reach into a bloody mess. There was no effect, however.

Still alive, with eyes glowing red, body parts torn off, and bleeding wounds, the fauna of this world did not slow down. It didn't care about the pain. It didn't care about the lack of limbs. The ominous roar did not cease for a moment. They were like an army of zombies trying to get to their prey no matter what. The dead were quickly trampled by the rest, the wounded crawled forward purposefully, dragging their wounded bodies. And, of course, the thousands of pairs of ominously glowing eyes and the light of the setting sun did nothing to brighten the picture.

On the walls of the capital, everyone was present, it seemed to me. Absolutely everyone. Soldiers of the Empire, soldiers from another world, children, old men, prostitutes, slaves. Everyone who could hold a weapon, or at least throw rocks at the heads of the horde, helped as best they could.

Their faces were wet with sweat, and their arms and bodies shook with fear and exertion. But most importantly, their eyes. In them danced the certainty that they would die. Die once and for all. Die without seeing the faces of those they held dear.

They didn't run away because they knew there was nowhere to run. Even though they were afraid, they realized that there were only two outcomes of the siege: they would survive or die. On their trembling feet, children, women and old men carried ammunition to the walls so that the fire would not stop for a moment. Everyone in the capital forgot their differences, working as one and helping each other.

I even saw military men from behind the Gate handing battle rifles into the hands of warriors, wired a very brief briefing. The liaisons shouted into their radios, demanding reinforcements while the gunners changed magazine after magazine.

A united front for the humanity of this world, eh?

Involuntarily I remembered the spirit's words about not wishing harm to those who came from behind the Gate, but I guess that rule doesn't apply if the latter intervened on their own. Though I do wonder if the beasts would attack those who came to this world.

Speaking of the spirit itself. In the distance, I could feel the divinity weakening. Drop by drop, dust by dust, it was submitting to the power that opposes it. Anma hadn't lied, that if it was consumed, the local gods could do nothing to counter the power of the spirit.

Slowly and surely, a dark aura was spreading through this world. It could clearly be felt in the very air even without the use of any magic. Such is the change in the world at the end of the Age, eh? The feeling is... ambiguous.

I clucked my tongue.

The man in me demands intervention. It demands that I save these people, their children and loved ones. But principles and personality... they say something else....

Watch and don't interfere.

And... looking at the picture before me I... don't know what to think of myself. The war for life in front of my eyes does not evoke strong emotions in me. Even if my enhanced hearing clearly hears the cries of panic and despair, and my sight hears the broken and blank stares of those who were weak in spirit. And choosing whether to intervene or not is more like choosing between two drinks at the supermarket. As if I have to choose between what's healthy or what I like.