Round 47: Battle Without Honor or Humanity
For the first time in my life, I left home and came to such a distant place. The Star Realms, the Outer Lands, Mark City, Kasseli, the Gray Wastes, and the Bottomless Abyss—traversing those strange realms that I had only ever heard of in books, and witnessing their dangers, mysteries, and wonders firsthand was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Finally, I crossed the boundaries of the Multiverse Ark. The chaos from the dawn of creation still lingered here, with primal energies surging and forming violent torrents. The end of my journey was an island in this ocean of energy, where I was fortunate enough to encounter the ancient survivors and remnants of their glorious civilization—the Dominators, the City of the Dominators.
Perhaps calling them “survivors” would be more appropriate. They were born in a prehistoric era filled with terrifying disasters, endured the destruction and rebirth of the Multiverse, and have persisted to this day. In their presence, humans, dwarves, elves, dragons, and even our gods can only be considered infants—faced with this fact, I felt profound awe. Countless beings far stronger, more powerful, and wiser than them had long since vanished, while they, once deemed humble and insignificant, managed to endure the cruel currents of time.
They are true beings who seized fate by their own strength.
Though they ultimately succumbed, defeated by their own greatest creation. Their entire race is trapped within cold steel constructs, aged and weakened, on the verge of extinction. Eliminating them now might be easier than facing the King of the Deep Seas, but that does nothing to lessen my admiration. I am a mage, and mages are unbelievers. Thus, only fear and resentment accompany the overwhelming power of gods and demons; it is the immortal achievements created by beings like us that can evoke a resonance from the depths of the soul.
I must say, I am lucky to have seen them.
Now, they are in an unprecedented crisis. The most cunning and scheming among the Tanarils, mocked by his own kind as a “demon with a devil’s mind,” Lord Gratzet of Darkness, has secretly plotted a scheme to utterly destroy them. He used some method yet unknown to us to contact the Abominations, awakening the resentment and hatred left behind by the ancient gods of the primordial era—living weapons of destruction created during the Cosmic Wars. The Abominations, like frenzied sharks drawn by the scent of blood, will arrive sooner or later.
There is no choice—they and the creatures under their protection must evacuate as soon as possible. Even without Kaeli’s insistence, I couldn’t stand by and watch millions of inhabitants in the city die needlessly. Such a number is comparable to that of a nation in the Main Material Realm; I cannot ignore it.
Saving one person is saving the whole world. In my opinion, this saying is nothing but a way to encourage people to act bravely without offering any real benefits, just tricking young people with empty words. Saving one person means saving one person—after all, one’s own life is always more valuable than anyone else’s. As for the world, none of us—whether you, me, or him—matter much; it doesn’t really matter whether we save them or not. But when we truly have the chance to save a world, even if only to delay its fate of slipping into oblivion for a while—let alone considering the giant ants that are half-humanoid monsters among its inhabitants—who could turn a blind eye to those lives that are almost identical to ours, with their own emotions and souls?
One percent… no, just one-thousandth of the people surviving is enough for a race to continue.
The ancient chaos covered the sky, and I didn’t know how great the chances of success were; I couldn’t even see a glimmer of hope. But I had no choice. Sometimes, something beyond our rationality suddenly surges up from the depths of our hearts, driving us forward—unable to change direction, unable to stop.
Does he share the same thoughts as me?
A holographic display began to flash, interrupting the female mage’s thoughts.
“An explosion occurred in the lower levels of District 11. Initial estimates suggest over 60% damage, and it’s still spreading,” reported the delicate terminal operator. Her Common tongue was a bit stiff, but already quite fluent.
“Seal off the damaged area and cut off its energy connections to other regions,” Moriel ordered, glancing at the floating charts before her. Red spots appeared on the rapidly enlarged magical images, showing a tendency to connect together.
The female mage frowned, sensing that the situation might worsen.
“How’s the evacuation going? Activate the emergency shuttles,” she continued, issuing commands. “Monitor closely the activation level of the uncontrolled energy… There’s no time left. Abandon Districts 9 and 11 immediately, cut off all energy supply there, and inform Keri—ask them to come and assist right away!”
At her command, the control hall in the middle of the Iron City’s main tower immediately became busy. They were all elven-like creatures Moriel had seen when she first arrived in the city, connected to data lines leading to the central system. Hundreds of them served as the core of the city’s operations after the rulers stepped back—analyzing and processing various matters before submitting them to the female mage for decision-making.
After finally dealing with the emergency, Moriel gently rubbed her forehead, feeling utterly exhausted. The city was becoming increasingly unstable… The energy network throughout the city trembled again, as if molten lava were flowing through its damaged veins. Numerous indicators had far exceeded dangerous thresholds, taking a long time before slowly dropping back. She looked out the window and saw red smoke still billowing at the city’s edges. If things continued like this, it wouldn’t last much longer. The city was now like a thin plank covering a volcano’s crater, ready to be torn to pieces at any moment.
But Morriel understood that her job was to patch things up as they went, ensuring the city held on until the very end. Ever since Forty-Seven entered the waste piles, there was no response—only the rekindled giant forges speaking in his place. The structure of the city was changing; in fact, as people gradually gathered in the designated safe zones, other areas of Steel City soon became uninhabitable for any species. Violent flames from the heart of the earth surged through the city, unleashing all sorts of unimaginable monsters from the Pandora’s box that had been opened. Kari and Fergas organized patrols to contain these terrifying abominations and drive them into the slowly moving steel beasts.
Yes, the price of preparation. Not even Kari could do it, nor could the Dominators explain it, but Morriel had been accustomed to it since her days in Rain City. Did Forty-Seven have the ability to control such a massive number of steel beasts? There were even more than all the steel beasts in one world. The female mage realized she had wandered her thoughts again and convinced herself to stop worrying about his problems. It was his war alone… and he had never lost before.
After another busy day and night, Morriel rested for two hours just before dawn. When she emerged from the meditation room, she found several familiar visitors waiting for her.
Milia, Fiona, and especially Jane—her silver eyes, lacking focus, seemed to contain two miniature suns, their divine glow so intense it was hard to look directly at. The other two holy warrior girls no longer looked at her with respect and admiration for her sister, but with pure faith and obedience. Morriel’s gaze lingered briefly on their faces before turning to Ximb, the Storm Queen, who still appeared disheveled, her black hair dancing in the wind. Yet the female mage could tell at a glance that she was different from her time in Deepstream City, just as O’Sullivan was different from Xyrik inhabiting his body.
Mistra, the Goddess of Magic. Even the most powerful and unruly mages would do what Morriel did—bow deeply in reverence.
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty Mistra.”
The Goddess of Magic smiled in return. “There’s no need for such formality, Miss Morriel.”
“The situation is urgent. Should we start right away?” Jane asked. The presence of the goddess seemed to have no effect on her at all; she had always been like a cold, emotionless puppet.
“It depends. The evacuation is still in progress… and most importantly, I don’t know if he’s ready.”
Kairo gently pulled at Morriel’s sleeve, signaling her to look in another direction.
Only then did the female mage notice that there was another person with the four women.
He wore a dark gray hooded monk’s robe and stood quietly aside, like any ordinary low-ranking cleric in the church. Perhaps he really hadn’t been noticed? But he wasn’t trying to hide himself, and there was nothing large enough around to conceal him. The moment Moriel glanced at him, he transformed from an unremarkable passerby into a shadow etched into her soul—a mask with closed eyes, vivid and lifelike. Not a trace of skin was visible; it seemed as though nothing else existed beyond his clothes and mask, with only a cold, desolate emptiness seeping through the gaps in his collar.
Moriel had never dealt with him before, but she immediately recognized his identity, just as one knows autumn has arrived when seeing yellow leaves falling. That mask faced her, silently conveying the inevitable end of all living things—a emptiness even deeper than the eternal darkness of the gray wasteland.
He existed as the shadow of all beings… At the thought of this, she felt a chill run down her spine.
“A vulture,” said the Goddess of Mist through Kairo’s mind. It seemed she hated him greatly.
“Please follow me; we’re going to the control center.” Now was not the time for arguments. Everyone knew what to do—the female mage led the gods toward the elevator.
“Amazing power,” Mistra said, examining everything with interest. The silver-white metal walls reflected the image of the magic goddess—a graceful, glowing humanoid.
“Phaethon… the ultimate monster born from the dying sun god,” Jane said softly. “It emits flames hotter than the sun itself, like a massive mass of magma traveling through various realms. It usually gets too close to the world, causing even stones to ignite. The land burns, rivers dry up, everything turns to ashes. What was once the sea is left with nothing but dry sand. The entire world watches in terror as it rises, but no one can endure to see it set. This is a power that must be sealed forever; it should not be used by anyone, in any way.”
Moriel smiled. The elevator’s indicator lights flickered like stars beside her. “We red-robed mages have a saying… Money is money.”
The iron doors of the control center didn’t open as usual, which puzzled Moriel.
“Open Sesame,” said Kairo.
“What?”
“It only works if you say ‘Open Sesame,’ Sister Moriel.”
“…Did he get any news?” The female mage quickly realized. “What trick is this again?”
Inside the control hall, they were greeted by a rather strange machine. A long, reptilian-spine-like metal device that seemed to bend and twist effortlessly, with red light emanating from its electronic eyes—
“It’s Bubba, Fluff, and Flower,” the surveillance eye cackled. “Here to save the town? Wave your hands, guys!”
Of course, no one responded to him.
“The queen and young eggs of the Ant Tribe have all been safely placed in the designated area,” the staff member finally reported some good news.
“My father, Amunra, will provide divine power, using the magic network woven by Her Majesty Mistra to open the portal between realms,” Jane said. “The King of the Dead will guide the souls of travelers, ensuring they don’t get lost in the chaos of energy and reach a safe place.”
“Yes, Miss Morriel,” the Magic Goddess continued. “The Lord of Splendor has sacrificed greatly for this. He even sent his three daughters to convey the greatest power. We can send the people from the city to the Vast Plains; the Queen of Stars has agreed to take them in, thanks to Chloé convincing her mother—oh, I almost forgot, she asked me to convey her greetings to you.”
“But we don’t have any resources to waste,” Jane added. “Once the Abominations break through our defenses, we’ll seal the city immediately—we must not let them enter the Multiverse. Morriel, under other circumstances, such reckless actions of yours would deserve the harshest punishment.”
“Try it then, little cops,” the Surveillance Eye emitted a blood-red glow that illuminated their faces. “Let me tell you, I’m not the Jojo of old—I’m now Mojo-Jojo!”
Morriel smacked the Surveillance Eye aside with a clang.
“She’s right. Once the teleportation channel is established, the Abominations will immediately track us down and attack. We rely entirely on you.”
“Of course,” the Surveillance Eye circled upward before retreating. “There’s never been any savior, nor do we depend on gods or emperors. To create human happiness, it’s all up to us!”
The invasion by the Abominations came faster than expected. As soon as the Magic Goddess deployed her network and Amunra’s holy light had yet to reach the three holy warrior girls via the invisible bridge of energy, they attacked.
Gusts of wind blew in from the deserts at the city’s edge, carrying biting cold with them. Hailstones whipped against the windows with a cracking sound, and the temperature inside seemed to drop gradually. The sky darkened and blurred, with several ink-like masses gradually spreading out, like rain clouds that suddenly formed in summer.
Those weren’t clouds. Morriel watched quietly. Though far away, her sense nerves still sent intense feelings of nausea to her brain, as if she were submerged in filthy corpse water. In the blink of an eye, the writhing darkness covered the sky—the wind grew stronger, and the toxic clouds that once covered the sky were torn to shreds.
A minute or two later, a few lights appeared in that endless tide of corruption. Pale and cold, like the faint stars on a winter night. Those weren’t stars either—the lights flickered erratically, each surrounded by countless needle-like points of light. Though white, they carried no sense of purity—rather, they resembled stinking burial cloths or bloated, lifeless drowned corpses, filthy beyond description. Morriel focused her mind and looked deep into one of those light halos. What she saw made her heart race and her stomach tighten.
“The Withers.” Death had appeared beside the female mage at some point; it was also the first time she heard his voice—calm and firm.
“Death is not an end, but a beginning; it is not a punishment, but an inevitable necessity in life, a part that completes the cycle of existence. Yet sadly, even the highest gods often refuse to face this truth. Humans rise from their graves, continuing to exist as undead, while the corpses of deities that perish become withered beings. Their only purpose is to kill all life they see… No matter what you plan to do, time is running out.”
A drop of bean-sized mucus struck the window, shattering against the semi-circular tempered glass, followed by several more drops. The paths of the droplets took on a strange purple hue, like foul pus oozing from a ruptured cyst. Something flew out from the light—something that resembled birds yet was not one; each one was enormous. Their once bright and pure feathers had long since fallen off, leaving behind withered muscles wrapped around jagged, misaligned bones. Their stiff, black wings flapped through the air, casting chaotic shadows across the land. Moriel watched as they passed by, as storms carrying rain rushed in swiftly, as if even the sky were driven mad by their presence.
Moriel had no doubt about the sheer malice harbored by these never-before-seen undead creatures. She gripped her staff tightly, watching them approach calmly, just as a king besieged by enemy forces would trust unconditionally in his elite guards to turn the tide.
Without warning, Forty-Seven attacked. A blinding flash struck her eyes, leaving sharp, knife-like scars on her retina. The female mage immediately adjusted her visual sensitivity, otherwise she would soon be blinded by the barrage of fire. Hundreds of flames erupted simultaneously along the edges of the steel city, and it took a long time before the terrifying explosions reached her ears—after which they never ceased. A barrage of projectiles formed a web of death, effortlessly capturing the flock of birds, with chunks of flesh flying apart in the flames. The rain evaporated into purple mist, only to be blown away instantly. More weapon systems were activated, and this time even Moriel could see the monstrous cannons protruding between the domes—the shockwaves from their firing created distinct spherical voids around the barrels, with flames swirling inside before exploding outward. From above, it resembled a metal plain covered in blooming flowers.
On the barren land beyond, darkness was torn apart time and again. On one side were corpses; on the other, steel. Throughout history, these had been all that remained on any battlefield. Now, they both possessed their own wills, rising again to wage a relentless struggle of death—a war devoid of honor or humanity.