"Sacrifice: No one should underestimate the sacrifice of a third party—the property of each person, of facing death, abandonment, or solitude is only possible when one knows it serves a greater good. People often do not know that culture exists because thousands of lives were sacrificed to preserve this knowledge—this species, human or at least humanoid.
Sacrifices come in many forms. However, the one I am interested in addressing is that which carries altruism within its intention. The protection of offspring, however laudable, only obeys the need—perhaps unconscious—to perpetuate one's genes. Otherwise, no one would watch over creatures that cannot yet fend for themselves. The strong in thought and will will help the weak—not because they are good; weakness does not automatically bring goodness. But they are weak. The strong are neither good nor evil by definition—except for the tendency to believe that strength brings logic. So if someone wishes to help the weak for being weak, they will be making a true sacrifice. Those who do so for chivalrous reasons will soon be revealed to have a nature more focused on satisfying their own needs for recognition or, in the worst case, the unjustified ego of saving someone notably inferior.
Every sacrifice comes with a price. This includes life in most cases, but not the loss of vital functions—rather, the loss of emotional capacities. Risking life, integrity, worldview—all this is a function of the wear you can endure.
If you only do it with those you like, with a certain skin color, descent, character, and other human qualities, then you are not making a sacrifice—you are doing a good deed for someone you like or who arouses compassion. You are not thinking about what they lived or would live if you did not assist them. That is the nature of true sacrifice—you will do everything... for nothing.
- Lilith -"
I lowered the document. It was difficult to conceive a person as cynical as the Queen of the Succubi. Yet I must admit she was right—the value of sacrifice must be without looking at the specific characteristics of the beneficiary, or you would end up as a god with no one to assist you. It was intriguing, the people who were in league with our master. Being able to read all these writings contained in level ten of Whitecap magic—my reading companion was the distant Judeus, mentor and currently tired leader. I knew it was because of everything he was doing. He maintained a very precarious balance, all to assist those elves. I was not a fan of the outcasts, of these refugees. But I considered that my master's characteristic was who he was thanks to all the effort, all the guilt he had from his time of isolation. Sad as it sounded, he still had not forgiven himself for having left the city to the madmen who ruled it. He wanted to achieve a balance between everything he did, in protecting those he could, in stopping this invasion.
Since the elves arrived, I had been in here. Judeus wanted me to prepare, but I did not think I would reach the level of concentration he currently had. My magic was strong but clumsy—I only achieved a hundred light branches. Every test we did was meant to improve my concentration. While reading, with points of light, I created fractal things, movement lines, poliformed images that no one understood. But suddenly, he would throw an object at me—an apple, a flower, a book. My mind must be able to imitate it not only in its external appearance but in its contents, its aromas—everything with particles of light! It's impossible! But I would not say it out loud—not when I had read parchments imitated with magic without needing to have seen them. My master was someone to be careful with... except when I had to take care of him.
It happened frequently. Suddenly, I would notice he had not eaten, visited the restroom. In everything related to magic, he was a sagacious, fierce, calculating person—the quintessence of the mage. But I could not stop seeing how he neglected himself. At night, I washed the clothes, used magic, but I did not clean with magic—it made no sense. I used simple commands; each particle was removed. I could "perceive" the fabric's molecules—I did not feel anything fixed yet, but I did know when something did not belong there. That helped me. I used the night for that—to clean everything. During the day, we used the room for training, the library—everything deformed, moved things around, used only the basic forms of magic. They were less of a force load for the fields but more complex. Each movement was conditioned not to disturb the rest of the reigning magic. It was difficult. At first, when I saw all the effort to use magic in its pure state, I almost regretted having earned the level. But now I would be fine—just half a year, and I was already capable of imitating half the filters he used in his fields.
... As always, I woke up at night. I thought I lost consciousness. I considered it was because I tried to do something very difficult, but I did not remember what. This time, my field was focused on the poor areas. I had been dealing with it for days. From there came attacks from many remnants of the Lich, or lately, some infiltrators from these invading continents. All I did was lose them—just when they were at the edges of the populations, the next thing they discovered was that they were on the coast a few kilometers away. I had confused them so much that encounters had occurred between them. I saw no compassion on either side. All I had to do was raise my field—a harmonious deployment. If something was here, I was sure they were enemies. So, to place the various protections, finally the diversion attack. Something, something was wrong.
The view of the floor indicated that I had lost consciousness again. Now I knew what was there was very powerful. I could not even imagine the enemy's level, but I could not leave my master alone. I knew level nine mages did not have a single chance. So I used the field, projected myself several tens of meters above the tower. There, I could see several figures—a blaze of power like I had never seen. Yet my master's field prevented them from passing. I could see them closer... a girl? No! No one should be so simple. Judeus warned me, so I expanded my field to surround them but without harming them—I did not want to lose consciousness. There, I felt it—her companions were not the ones attacking; only the girl was. But she was not alone—behind her came many thousands of soldiers. If the field fell, they would annihilate everyone!
The girl threw small blows, but each one resonated in the city. I sent instructions for the lesser Whitecaps to protect the neighborhoods in case the field fell. But my master could only fight that entity—that magic imbued in a minor. But that entity protected its soldiers; they only waited. I could not let them arrive.
I ran to the top of the tower. There, on the small terrace where I had so many times shared tea with my mentor, from there I saw the innumerable torches. I had several containment plans, but everything depended on my master entertaining or containing that enemy. With great caution, I isolated my field, molded it—it was a cone, a funnel, a blotch that dispersed without touching those figures still forcing the barrier. As I covered them, I could feel their hunger, their pain from walking ceaselessly across the mountain range, but above all, their fanaticism. They wanted to reach where their god told them, to kill whom he indicated. But I could not kill them—not without them having done anything to us. So I began to look for where they received the instructions, the divine inspirations. No matter how strong, they must enter through some place... Here! They did not come from the girl—outside, as a presence, was the one who incited them. He did not give instructions as such, only kept them guided. If I could not kill them, and I was sure fighting a god would not benefit me... What was left for me?
More carefully than moving a speck of dust, the rune began—slowly. I did not want them to feel it. It was small, must not be blocked by their god, only needed to store a small level of magic that would disperse any message. It had to be done—one speck, two specks, a thousand specks, fifteen thousand specks at the same time. It was very difficult—my head, I could not feel, concentrate—but there was little left. I kept filling them; they had to be complete... they were almost ready.
Now, one more rune—just one that I needed. I knew the barrier would fall, but when it did, the true war would begin. This rune was from my special field. It would activate while I was unconscious. It would activate when Judeus's field was torn apart. I could feel myself losing it, but at least he would not have to deal with them. As soon as it activated, they would turn around and walk into the interior lands, far from the Dark Forest, far from the floor toward which I was plummeting. Would my master be happy? ... Ouch! I hoped... yes.