Chapter 494: Into the City
Fable crossed the battlefield in great leaps and bounds, the corpse-strewn hills becoming a blur of bloodstained foliage. Blood and gore pooled in the valleys, forming thick, crimson ooze rivulets that snaked their way down the slopes. Shattered armor littered the ground, glinting ominously in the afternoon sun.
The rumble of mana cannons intensified, their roar competing with the chorus of screams as we bypassed the battles still raging along the walls. I winced, the sounds of pain and death washing over me, and added a third-circle Sound Ward to the Nexus, muting the cacophony.
Luxxa glanced at me as she felt the change, her eyes filled with concern. I shook my head, trying to tell her I was fine. She wouldn’t be able to see them from her vantage running alongside us, but my hands clenched tightly around Fable’s fur told a different story.
After just a few seconds, we passed beneath the outer gates. They had once been massive, towering, and impressive, but Bethiv’s attack had shattered them, leaving them hanging limply on the few hinges remaining. The powerful enchantments that once protected them were gone blasted into oblivion by his power.
The bodies behind the walls were thick and clustered, crunching sickeningly beneath Fable’s paws. I bit my lip, holding back a groan as my stomach churned, and my tail curled with anger as I thought of those responsible for this. There were hundreds of corpses in the courtyard alone, but the scene only worsened as we entered the city itself. However gruesome the battlefield had been, those casualties were soldiers. Within the city walls, it was a different story.
Brithlite had once been a beautiful city with neatly paved roads, sparkling fountains, and vibrant gardens adorning every home and business. Now, the streets were painted red, littered with the bodies of slaughtered men, women, and children piled against the storefronts.
Driven by the curse, even the smallest children had thrown themselves at the Last Light Company, biting and scratching with tiny fingernails. While the soldiers tried to be gentle, a sixth-level warrior couldn’t defend against a first-level being without causing severe injury. They were simply too strong, and restraining themselves in such a tense situation was impossible.
It was something I’d experienced time and again, how even a friendly pat on the back could feel like a mountain falling on me. What if that ’friendly pat’ was designed to remove me from their path with all possible haste physically? It was easy to see how so many people ended up splattered against the walls.
I couldn’t imagine being in the soldiers’ position and felt nothing but pity for them as we navigated the bloodstained streets, the increasing evidence of their sacrifice weighing heavily on my heart. This was the terrible price of defying the gods, fighting against friends, family, and countrymen to free the very ones they were forced to slay. It weighed heavily on my soul, a burden I would never forget and carry with me forever. How could they, who had the blood of their children on their hands, feel any better?