Tonight would be the attack. I looked at my companions, all armed with fabrics treated by magical means and carrying powerful enchantments, all internally engraved in an attempt to prevent them from being deciphered by the enemy. My master, the Whitecap leader of Stormhammer—a city besieged by elves and now by this new threat—was watching. Only he could not help us, not with him and the other level-ten mages creating a new containment field. Outside were those of us who experienced events as they happened. I had traveled from the comforts of the Dark Forest—first to warn a stubborn woman, then to free her, finally to realize how far she was from me. But life continued. The work I performed for our leader had brought me again to the coasts where one day I had fled from the implacable "true" elves, now confined to their limited territories, affected by geological phenomena, defending themselves from the dead, from chaos creatures, and now from these fanatics—as unreal as their origin.
We were almost half the defensive force. Our mission: defend, eliminate those who harassed us, but above all, prevent them from reaching the city—any city. Inside each one, lesser Whitecaps lent their magical fields to defend, but it would be easier to say to die more slowly. The divine armies were enormous. Even warned by the Dark Lord, we were barely in time to prepare defenses. Our policy was that there be no unnecessary deaths—but that was there, in the cities, in the forests. Modesty aside, Greybeard was feared by almost all mystical creatures. Many of them resided in the great cities, but others, since the cataclysm, had been migrating to the prairies, founding cities. Now that they no longer feared the elves, that the dead were weakened, that they could grow and—despite the Whitecap leader's disagreement—strengthen to attack us, there were no centaurs, minotaurs, orcs—no one who had compassion for the fools who founded their cities on the seashore where the greatest invasion was taking place.
We saw the invaders around 4:00 p.m. They traveled with their banners high. An enormous concentration of magic took the image of a muscular man with a hammer. For a moment, the image reminded me of a tenacious dwarf who had suffered more than necessary. But that image faded. No one living on this continent would give importance to a perfect chin, the refined features of greatness, oiled muscles shining in the light, deep blue eyes. Even the charismatic of the Dark Triad had bags under his eyes—the weight of the evil they faced, the decisions that pursued them. All this image—not of greatness, not of pomp—was a concentrated knot, zero appearances, all intention. That was why none of us Whitecaps were intimidated—we knew how to see beyond appearance. Upon reaching the clearing, one of them stepped forward, shouting that he wanted to talk. As the one in charge of dialogue, I stepped forward.
The individual was just like his avatar—an attractive young man no older than thirty, armed with a long sword and a half-body shield. His golden armor shone in the sun, but that was not entirely true—that was a minor enchantment, distorting perceptions. Once I eliminated it, I only saw a man dressed in ridiculous armor. Something about him reminded me of something. Anyway, since they were the leader's requests, I informed them that these cities protected by the Council were outside the jurisdiction of deities. They were welcome to found their own settlements, but the placement of any type of magical or divine obligation was out of consideration. The representative grew redder as I spoke. Toward the end, he was no longer listening. He began shouting at me that it was a betrayal of his god's prophecies—that thunder and lightning had guided them, that the evil of other continents was endless, but they had the will of their god to redeem this abandoned continent. He considered us heretics, godless, people who would have to submit to divine judgment—only then would he speak with me.
I signaled, and my people prepared. I warned him that the cities were beyond his sick mind—that we knew of the massacres committed in the fishing villages along the coast. They were invited to coexist or suffer the consequences. He raised his hand and invoked the Wrath of God. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the skies darkened; the beatific face of his magical god contorted in fury. He raised his mace and slammed it down upon me. Fools—my field was not like the weak objects of the village. It was not a wall—a wall could be broken. Mine compactly spun in a spiral, layers and layers of magic piercing his attack, directing it to the sides. It was powerful, but nothing I had not handled before. As that happened, my mages began to blind them—nothing permanent, just flashes of light to prevent them from focusing their weapons. We retreated. Yet I could not help but admire the number of maces created in the air—apparently, magic posed no problem for them.
We had already been keeping them at bay for two weeks. The mages on the enemy side were very stupid—they called themselves priests but had nothing to offer. Little by little, I had sown some very interesting enchantments—small vibrations in the cornea. Ironically, were it not for their enormous shield, they would easily detect them. But a shield that large would be consumed protecting them from branches, wind, or even dust—so small movements... possible attacks... were not detected. My less subtle students—or perhaps more conscious—did the same but in areas with potential for recovery like intestines or lungs. That at least delayed them. But at night, as we shared lean bread and water, each checked their strength. Most were exhausted. So today, I had to let them go. I would stay alone. I had achieved my goal—now only a small enchantment remained to be applied. My boss would not like it, but I had other plans, and I thought they had a chance to buy a few more days.
I was two kilometers from the city of Stormhammer. The city was behind me; my people must be recovering. I had run through the forests, warning the cities. All fled at my advice, taking provisions but destroying nothing. I clicked my tongue when I saw the believers setting fire to the villages, but there was a reason I made them travel like this—that way, they did not reach any city protected by ours and would have to go through Stormhammer... But first, something awaited them.
Just as they set up their siege weapons, I emerged again from the forest. I could see they all came with a murderous spirit—their eyes tired and reddened by the light attacks we launched every time they approached, but also every time they wanted to go elsewhere. So I had an enormous concentration of enemies. I told them to reconsider or suffer the consequences. No one shouted at me; no one sought reconsideration. They wanted to eliminate me. The hammers materialized, and I, with nothing more to try and having fulfilled my leader's requests, executed the function. At that moment, all the priests I had attacked gathered all the magic over the days—it executed, vibrating at high speeds, detaching their corneas and causing vomiting and spasms in the rest of the attacked. It was difficult to maintain the magic at the same time—all the enchantments required a small push. But to keep them from attacking me while I incapacitated them, I laughed... At them, at the world, at leaving them as I went into the forest, into the vicinity of my beloved elves. Let them make the most of it.