153 Im a Person, Too. (1/2)

A large crowd of powerless mortals knelt in protestation before an ever-changing shadow. At times, it was a charming woman, and in the next moment, an old, aloof man. Another second passed and the shadow transformed yet again. It had turned into a young, handsome man.

Old, young, man or woman; It did not have any bearing on the shifting silhouette. Neither did the race of the shadow. Human, Avunian, Eisalon, Cuanian -- the difference did not change anything for the kneeling mortals.

The unbelievably intoxicating power surging through the veins of the Chosen during the Age of Chaos had proved too great a responsibility for them. Without the supervision of the Ancient Mulians, who had fled into their own hidden dimension, the world fell into chaos after the Great Barrier War.

Abandoned by their superiors, the original first-generation of Chosen -- the Otherworlder Generation -- lost themselves in despair over the nature of their circumstances.

Trapped in a cage, surrounded by an unstoppable foe outside, and without a way back home to their original homeworlds. Left to fend for themselves on a strange planet at the edge of a foreign universe, not even their own.

Confined in a sealed prison cell with other strangers, too. Peculiar races from different stars. New neighbors, who were unlike them.

Could they be trusted? Could anyone be trusted? What were they to do from now on? What was there to live for in a doomed reality?

Was Hope even alive anymore, or had She drawn her last breath on the day that the Heavenly Barrier was activated? Were... they delaying the inevitable?

These questions plagued the first generation of Chosen in their dreams, to the point of madness.

”Some Chosen who could not stand the pressure of their drawn-out existence eventually broke. They, by their own hands, ended their torment. Rather than continue to endure the suffering of living in a damned, hopeless existence for potentially thousands of years, they chose to...”

Reed closed his eyes and said, ”Stop it... I can't go on anymore. Please.” He had seen enough.

This suffering. This hopelessness. This is too much.

He clutched his chest and drew out the warmth within his bosom in order to soothe himself. The outline of the Mark of Responsibility shone dimly underneath his clothes as it stirred itself into action.

It was not long before Reed calmed himself down, his frayed nerves eased by the mysterious, yet familiar warmth he had grown attached to.

”...Why have you shown me all of this... suffering? What do I stand to gain from this?

Should I be furious over the injustices done to the mortals of the past?

Disappointed over the long history of oppression enforced by the Chosen of the past?

Reed was furious, disappointed, and did, in fact, feel betrayed, but that did not mean that he would blame the Chosen of the present for the sins of their ancestors. Truth be told, he did not even have the hatred to blame the Chosen of the past, either.

Their entire world shattered into pieces, right in front of them on the day of the Heavenly Barrier War. Reed couldn't even conceive how unimaginably heartbreaking it must've been to see the destruction of their hope.

He condemned every Chosen who had abused their power during that hopeless time period, but that did not mean he was not blind to the unfortunate circumstances of the time.

”I can't say that they'd all be pure saints had everything not gone to shit, but I'm willing to wager that they were all decent enough before the world went to hell. Not the demented, lost souls you showed me.

They were people. Sure, they were also Chosen, but that doesn't mean that they were immune to the despair brought on by the Great Barrier War. Anima, for all it's good for it's capable of, isn't all that effective in the face total despair.

It'd be pathetic of us to judge these people over what had likely been the darkest period of their lives.”

Lu'um pointed backward and said, ”So you're willing to let all of that slide because the times were hard?”

When Reed turned around he felt his eyes water in pain from the sight of the monstrosity behind them.

It was taller than anything he had ever seen on Mulia. A mountain of corpses lay before them, stretching far into the sky above without end into the crimson clouds above.

Mortals, Chosen, the Old, and the Young. A terrible achievement in savagery of such sickening proportions that it could not be described with language alone.

Rotting flesh, bone, blood lay in a grand display, as if to present itself to the world, so that all may see the horrors that people were capable of. The terrified screams, desperate pleas, and forgotten prayers of the dead filled the bloodied battlefield with the timbre of unrestrained madness and despair.