Chapter 12

  ?The air inside the ruined cell block was thick with the taste of pulverized stone and metallic blood. Elara stood amidst the rubble of the shattered wall, her chest heaving, her silver armor dented and scored. She spun to face Homer, the fading glow of her magical sword casting harsh, shifting shadows across her furious features.

  ?She still thought he was a spy. It was written in the rigid set of her jaw and the wild, accusatory glare of her eyes. She believed Homer was a sleeper agent, an asset left behind by General Remoj to assist in the slaughter, or to sabotage San Pedro from within.

  ?"Do not sit there and pretend you are innocent," Elara hissed, her voice trembling with a potent mix of adrenaline and rage. "He tore through a fortress wall, slaughtered my men, and looked right at you. He spared you. Demons do not spare witnesses unless they are assets."

  ?Homer remained on the wooden bench, resting his wrists on his knees. He maintained his calm demeanor, a stark contrast to her unraveling composure. "Elara, if I were an asset, I would have walked out that hole in the wall with them. He looked at me and said I smelled like a weakling. His sister—the woman you locked in the cell next to me—told him to leave me alone because I listened to her talk. That is the sum total of my involvement."

  ?Before Elara could launch another accusation, the heavy wooden doors of the cell block groaned open. An orc guard stumbled into the corridor. He was a massive, heavily muscled warrior, but right now, he was barely standing. A deep, jagged laceration ran down his left arm, his chainmail rent as if by a giant set of claws, and he was bleeding heavily onto the pristine flagstones.

  ?

  "Commander," the orc wheezed, interrupting them. He leaned heavily against the iron bars of the nearest empty cell.

  ?Elara instantly shifted her focus, the anger in her eyes warring with immediate concern for her subordinate. "Report. Have they breached the inner ward?"

  ?The orc shook his heavy, tusked head. "No. All the surviving demons... they escaped. Headed northwest, toward the foothills. They broke the siege lines effortlessly. Commander... almost half of the city guard is dead or critically injured. The adventurers that answered the rally call... they suffered heavy casualties too. It is a slaughter out there."

  ?Elara’s face went completely pale, the true scale of the disaster finally washing over her. The fury drained from her posture, replaced by a crushing weight of responsibility. She looked at the blood pooling beneath the orc’s boots, then slowly turned her head back to Homer.

  ?"Remove his shackles," Elara ordered the orc, her voice deadened. "Then go to the apothecary tents. Tend to your wounds."

  ?The orc grunted, pulling a heavy iron key from his bloodstained belt. He lumbered over to Homer, inserting the key with a trembling hand. The heavy iron cuffs fell away with a loud clatter. The orc turned and limped back out the doors without another word.

  ?"Follow me," Elara shouted, her voice suddenly sharp and commanding again as she marched toward the exit.

  ?Homer rubbed his bruised wrists and followed her out of the prison.

  ?Nothing could have prepared him for the sight outside.

  ?The devastation was absolute. The bustling, vibrant medieval street market they had walked through mere hours ago was gone. In its place was an open-air abattoir. Stalls had been smashed into kindling. Dead bodies were scattered everywhere, lying in grotesque, unnatural angles across the cobblestones. Homer looked up, his stomach clenching as he saw the bodies of several guards hanging from the eaves of the timber-framed buildings, thrown there with unimaginable kinetic force.

  ?The physical damage to the environment was just as terrifying. Some buildings were still engulfed in roaring flames, while adjacent structures were entirely encased in jagged, unnatural ice. The street itself looked as if it had been half-swallowed by violent earth magic; deep fissures and craters marred the road, with the crushed remains of soldiers trapped within the stone jaws.

  ?Everywhere Homer looked, there were unrecognizable, decapitated parts. The scent of copper, voided bowels, and ozone hung heavy in the air. Through the ringing silence of the aftermath, he heard the soul-crushing sounds of weeping—crying children calling for their fathers, and wives screaming as they fell to their knees beside the mangled remains of people they loved.

  ?Homer stood perfectly still, utterly devastated.

  ?This.

  This was exactly what he had feared if the nanites were ever fully weaponized in a war. He had been locked away in a cryo-cell when the sky fell in his own time. He had never seen the physical reality of the Old Wars. He had only seen the data, the projections. But looking at the shredded flesh and ruined stone, he realized this was probably a fraction of what it had looked like.

  ?"Architect," Castor’s voice was remarkably subdued, a quiet resonance in Homer's mind. "Your physiological stress levels are approaching critical thresholds. I must confirm your hypothesis. The Old Wars were exponentially worse than this localized skirmish. The raw, unrefined nanite power of the cataclysm era operated on a molecular level of destruction far beyond the diluted, magic-infused variants utilized by the current inhabitants of this world. What you are witnessing is a mere echo of our history."

  ?Elara’s voice cut through Homer's bleak observation. She stood in the center of the ruined street, gesturing wildly at the carnage around them.

  ?"Look at this!" Elara shouted at him, tears of frustration and grief tracking through the dust on her face. "This is what the demons can do! This is what a mere handful of them are capable of! Now imagine if thousands of them came down from the mountains! Imagine if they marched on the capital!"

  ?Homer was speechless. He stared at a shattered wooden cart, where a torn piece of fabric lay partially submerged in a puddle of blood. He didn't say a single word.

  ?Elara stepped closer, her armor clinking, her eyes burning into him. "Tell me what you know. Tell me why Nero wants me to follow you. Are you really a demon? Are you something else? What are you hiding from me?!"

  ?Homer closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He was tired of the lies. He was tired of watching people die while he played the part of a clueless wanderer. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her exactly who he was, what the 'demons' actually were, and the true origin of their magic.

  ?Castor didn't even attempt to stop him. The artificial intelligence remained silent, calculating the extreme variables of the confession.

  ?"Elara, I am—"

  ?"Commander!"

  ?A soldier in heavily dented armor sprinted around the corner of a burning building, interrupting them. He skidded to a halt, saluting Elara with a trembling arm. "Commander, the backup has arrived from the northern garrison. They are entering the city square now."

  ?Elara let out a ragged breath, her shoulders slumping. "It is too late," she muttered bitterly. But despite her words, Homer could see the profound relief wash over her. The backup would have combat medics, clerics, and supplies.

  ?She turned to the soldier. "I am coming." She pointed a gauntleted finger at Homer. "You. Stay exactly where you are. Do not move from this street."

  ?She turned and jogged toward the city square with the soldier.

  ?"That was a statistically improbable interruption," Castor noted, the relief evident even in his synthetic tone. "It is highly beneficial that you did not disclose our origins. Informing her of the true nature of her world's history in her current state of emotional trauma would have likely triggered a violent psychological break or initiated an entirely new set of lethal problems."

  ?You are right, Homer agreed silently, exhaling a long, shaky breath. Let us just help where we can.

  ?While waiting for Elara to return, Homer moved through the wreckage. He couldn't use his advanced healing magic—the nanite reconstruction protocols would be far too obvious with so many surviving guards and townsfolk watching. Instead, he channeled his wind magic. He kept his gestures small and subtle, using localized pressure differentials to lift heavy, fallen timber and shattered masonry off trapped, injured individuals, allowing the surviving townsfolk to pull them free.

  ?Morning approached before Elara returned. She was not alone.

  ?Walking beside her, stepping over the rubble with an air of practiced disdain, was another High Elf. Homer recognized him immediately. It was the male elf who had been acting as an escort for Nero months ago.

  ?Homer stood up straight, brushing dust from his robes, and offered a standard, customary bow as they approached.

  ?The male elf looked at him with unvarnished disgust, his lip curling. "You are the one Nero bumped into on the road," the male elf stated, his voice dripping with condescension. He didn't wait for a reply, turning his sharp gaze to Elara. "Why is this human still breathing? If he drew the demons here, he should be executed on the spot."

  ?"He did not draw them here," Elara replied, her tone exhausted but firm. "I was wrong. Remoj was after a different prisoner, a woman we detained a week earlier. Homer is just an ordinary human caught in the crossfire." She glanced at Homer, a complex emotion flickering in her eyes. "I have already sent a report to Nero detailing the incident. I am currently awaiting his reply."

  ?

  The male elf scoffed, clearly unsatisfied, but didn't push the issue against a knight of Elara's standing.

  ?By the time the sun crested the horizon, the true, agonizing scope of the cleanup became visible.

  ?Hundreds of bodies lined the main road, wrapped in whatever clean cloth the survivors could scavenge. A dwarf official, wearing thick spectacles and a heavy leather apron, was walking down the line, documenting the dead with a quill and ledger. He spoke in hushed, grim tones to the surviving family members, meticulously listing those who were still unrecognizable. Further down the street, outside the city limits, those victims who were reduced to nothing more than hunks of meat had already been piled onto massive pyres, waiting for the clerics to perform the rites of cremation.

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  ?The male elf from Nero's retinue stood on a hastily constructed wooden platform in the center of the square. He held a crisp piece of parchment, his voice magically amplified to reach the grieving townsfolk.

  ?"Do not despair," the elf announced, his tone cold and bureaucratic. "The High Council has been informed. The help you need to rebuild these destroyed buildings will arrive shortly. Those who have suffered the loss of family or property will receive compensation from the treasury. Order will be restored."

  ?Elara sat on a stone bench near the edge of the square, entirely exhausted. Her wounds had been treated and freshly bandaged by the arrived clerics. She looked across the square at Homer, who was sitting quietly on the steps of a ruined tavern.

  ?As much as she hated being burdened with him, especially after the disastrous events of the night, Nero's orders were absolute. She had received a missive just a short while ago. The message had been delivered by a magical construct that looked exactly like a hawk, which still sat perched unnervingly on Elara's armored shoulder, its metallic eyes unblinking. Nero still wanted her to deliver Homer to Muntinlupa.

  ?She stood up and walked over to him, the mechanical hawk shifting its weight on her pauldron.

  ?"Who are you, really?" Elara asked, her voice quiet, lacking the heat of the previous night but filled with a deep, weary suspicion. "Why is Nero so interested in you? I had the clerics scan you when they treated my wounds. I confirmed it through spells and magical tools. You are just a human. There is nothing magical or demonic about your blood. Why does he care?"

  ?Homer looked up at her, his face impassive. He simply shrugged his shoulders, offering no explanation.

  ?The next day, Homer woke up early. The Golden Rooster inn had survived the attack mostly intact, though the atmosphere inside was akin to a wake.

  ?He walked outside. The construction and clearing efforts had already begun in earnest. He saw mages using levitation spells to clear the heaviest rubble, while ordinary humans and beastkin were already hammering fresh timber to brace the surviving structures.

  ?Down the street, he spotted Elara. She was talking in hushed, urgent tones to the male elf from yesterday. As Homer approached, she caught his eye, immediately raising a hand and signaling him not to go too far. The glare she shot him promised that she would probably kill him herself if he tried to run this time.

  ?Homer scoffed, calling out to her over the noise of the hammers. "Where do you think I will go, Elara? You had the clerics put a magical tracking bracelet on my ankle while I was sleeping."

  ?Elara didn't respond, simply turning back to her conversation with the male elf.

  ?Homer rolled his eyes and continued walking down the street to see if he could find a vendor selling food that hadn't been trampled in the panic.

  ?

  "You are surprisingly calm for a man wearing a magical leash."

  ?A familiar voice spoke from directly behind him.

  ?Homer didn't flinch. "Visual and auditory confirmation," Castor chimed in immediately. "It is Remo Hopps, operating under the alias Alija. She has altered her physical disguise. She is currently wearing different civilian clothing and a synthetic hairpiece."

  ?Homer turned around. Standing near a fruit stand was Alija. She wore a simple, undyed linen dress and a voluminous brown wig that hid her glowing hair completely. She was holding a green apple, looking at him with an amused smirk.

  ?"What are you doing here?" Homer asked, keeping his voice low, his eyes scanning the surrounding guards. "Are you planning another attack today? Did your brother forget to smash a few buildings?"

  ?Alija took a bite of the apple, looking genuinely impressed. "You recognized me instantly. Without hesitation. You have very sharp eyes, human. Most people look right past the wig."

  ?"It is the voice that gives you away," Homer lied smoothly. "You have a very distinct cadence."

  ?"No," Alija said, her smile fading into a more serious, hardened expression. "There will be no attack today. And... I am sorry about the mess. My brother is just overprotective. When he thinks I am in danger, he does not employ subtlety."

  ?Homer felt a flash of genuine, unadulterated anger. He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice into a fierce whisper. He gestured sharply to the ruined buildings, the blood-stained cobblestones, and the distant pyres burning outside the walls.

  ?"You do not have to slaughter half a town to be protective, Alija! All you had to do was ask for the keys! Look at what your people have done. Look at the bodies they are burning. You tore families apart last night over a misunderstanding."

  ?Alija stopped chewing. She swallowed, and the lingering amusement entirely vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, ancient severity that made her look every bit the immortal she was.

  ?"You think they would listen to us if we asked nicely?" Alija sneered, her voice dropping to a harsh rasp. "You think the Elves would just hand over the keys to a Demon? They have been deaf to us for eons, human. They look at us and see monsters. They do not see the people they abandoned."

  ?"That does not justify a massacre," Homer shot back, standing his ground. "That baker down the street whose shop was crushed? He didn't lock your ancestors out of the bunkers. That crying child I pulled from the rubble didn't drop the bombs. You are punishing the descendants for the sins of the architects."

  ?Alija let out a short, harsh laugh that sounded like grinding stones. "No. They did not drop the bombs. But they reap the benefits of the harvest grown on our graves. They sit in their pristine towers, wielding their 'pure' magic, entirely forgetting that the only reason they have a world to rule is because my ancestors choked on the ash and bled into the soil to survive the fallout!"

  ?She threw the half-eaten apple into a pile of debris, stepping directly into Homer's personal space.

  ?"We try to leave them be," she continued, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air around her feel heavy. "We try not to contact them. But they are somehow always looking for wars to justify their own existence. Every now and then, the High Council sends heavily armed troops into our territory to attack our settlements under the guise of 'purging the darkness.' They always attack first. The 'Demons' you fear so much? We just retaliate."

  ?"Architect," Castor confirmed in Homer's mind, analyzing her vital signs, vocal stress, and micro-expressions. "She is telling the absolute truth. The historical data fragments I have pieced together suggest a continuous, systematic cycle of unprovoked military incursions by the pureblood factions into the mutated territories."

  ?"They are terrified of us," Alija said, her voice filled with a bottomless, generational bitterness. "And no peace talk has ever lasted a single day. Do you know why? Because sometimes, their holy knights kill our messengers before they even reach the borders of the Council's territory. They mount their heads on pikes to prove their devotion to the light."

  ?Homer stared at her, the wind knocked out of his righteous anger. He had viewed the conflict through the lens of the immediate destruction, but the scope of the horror was far deeper than a single prison break.

  ?Alija leaned in close, her gaze locking onto his. "You think the number of people who died here yesterday is a tragedy? You think my brother is a monster for breaking down a wall?" She paused, her jaw tightening. "The Council obliterated an entire town of our people last year. Wiped it completely off the map. Men, women, children, elders. Erased."

  ?Homer felt a chill run down his spine. "Why?"

  ?"Because they wanted the land near the sea," Alija said flatly, the raw pain evident beneath her stoic facade. "They wanted to open a coastal resort for their nobles, and our camp was ruining the pristine view. So, they called down the heavens. The sky turned white, the sand fused into solid glass, and everyone I knew in that settlement was turned to vapor before they could even scream."

  ?"Cross-referencing geographic data and recent seismic anomalies on the eastern coast," Castor stated, his tone chillingly clinical. "Another verified truth. I detect the lingering remnants of a massive, synchronized magical bombardment. The energy signature is consistent with total localized annihilation. It behaves remarkably like a tactical orbital strike from our era, replicated through their current magical disciplines."

  ?Homer was utterly surprised. The sheer scale of the hypocrisy was staggering. The 'pure' races were committing genocide over real estate, while pointing at the survivors and calling them monsters.

  ?"Elara said nothing about this," Homer murmured, looking back toward where the High Elf knight was standing.

  ?"Of course she didn't," Alija sneered, following his gaze. "She is probably brainwashed by the Council. Elara is just a puppet. A well-trained dog who believes she is fighting for the light, completely ignorant of the oceans of blood on her masters' hands. She will kill without hesitation if a man in a clean robe tells her it is the righteous thing to do."

  ?Alija looked back at Homer, her glass-covered eyes surprisingly earnest. "You do not belong with them, human. You see through the lies. You look at me and you actually listen. Escape with me. Join us. We could use someone with your perspective in the Iron Remnant. We need people who understand the truth."

  ?Homer looked at the disguised demon, weighing her words, weighing the crushing history of the world he had woken up in. But he shook his head slowly.

  ?"No," Homer said firmly. "I have seen what your brother considers a rescue. I have seen what the Council considers progress. If I join either side, I am just picking a different flavor of slaughter. There is always another way to solve this. War doesn't end a cycle of vengeance; it just ensures the next generation has a fresh reason to keep killing."

  ?"No, there isn't," Alija said, her voice turning cold and resolute, the brief window of vulnerability slamming shut. "When the enemy refuses to see you as a living being, war is the only way left to survive. You will learn that eventually."

  Without another word, she stepped backward. She did not cast a grand spell or vanish into thin air. She simply turned her back and walked away, her plain linen dress and brown hair blending seamlessly into the bustling, chaotic crowd of builders and survivors. To the people of this new era, she was just another displaced civilian. To Homer, watching her disappear into the throng was a chilling reminder of exactly how easily the Iron Remnant could move among their enemies.

  ?A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

  ?Homer turned to see Elara standing there. She tracked his gaze, looking around the crowded street, her hand resting heavily on her sword hilt.

  ?"Who were you talking to?" Elara demanded, her eyes narrowing with renewed suspicion.

  ?Homer smoothly adjusted his expression into one of mild annoyance. "Just a fellow adventurer. He was asking if I wanted to join his party for a dungeon raid up in the northern peaks."

  ?"No," Elara said firmly, cutting off any further discussion. She adjusted the strap of her travel pack, the mechanical hawk still perched silently on her shoulder. "You are not going anywhere near a dungeon. Gather your things. We are leaving this ruined place. We are going to Muntinlupa tomorrow, and I intend to get there without any more catastrophic interruptions so I can finally get some rest."

  ?The morning sun cast long, pale shadows across the broken cobblestones of San Pedro. Homer woke up, splashed cold water on his face from the washbasin, and headed down the wooden stairs of the Golden Rooster inn.

  ?Elara was already downstairs, waiting for him near the main hearth. She had discarded her heavily damaged plate armor for lighter, reinforced leather traveling gear, though her magical sword remained strapped securely to her hip.

  ?"Let us eat on our way out of town," Elara said, tossing him a small, wrapped bundle of travel rations. "I want to be on the road before the magistrate decides to lock the gates for a proper census."

  ?Homer caught the rations, offering a dry smirk. "If this is some kind of trick to lock me in another dungeon like yesterday, I am going to fight you this time, Elara."

  ?Elara did not even blink at the joke. She adjusted her gloves and looked him up and down. "You wish."

  ?They left the inn and made their way through the recovering streets, stopping briefly at the town barracks to pick up the supplies Elara had prepared. From there, they headed straight toward the main gates

  .

  ?The town was still deeply scarred by the ruin of the demon attack. Piles of rubble choked the alleys, and the smell of smoke still clung to the fabric of the buildings. Yet, amid the repairs, life was stubbornly pushing forward. Specifically, the small merchant stalls and food carts were already back up for business, their owners loudly hawking their wares over the sound of hammering.

  ?

  "The show must go on," Castor observed, his voice echoing thoughtfully in Homer's mind. "They cannot simply mope around in the ashes. They have to live and survive. It is a highly efficient, adaptive biological response."

  ?Yeah, Homer thought back, watching a baker sell fresh rolls next to a collapsed wall. Humans and beastkin alike. You knock them down, they just start building again.

  ?

  "Speaking of rebuilding," Castor continued, shifting the topic smoothly. "My background diagnostics indicate that your neural pathways are slowly recovering from the extended cryo-stasis. You should be experiencing an increase in memory retrieval soon."

  ?Homer sighed silently as they walked toward the massive stone archway of the exit. I already am. Last night, I had a dream. It felt like a memory.

  ?

  "Clarify the parameters of the memory," Castor prompted.

  ?I was on trial, Homer replied, a phantom weight settling in his chest. I was standing in a massive room, and I was sentenced as guilty. I could not hear what I was being accused of over the ringing in my ears, but I felt this overwhelming certainty. I know I did not do whatever it was they were punishing me for.

  ?"Fascinating. I will cross-reference this fragmented data with my internal archives, though much of my own historical record remains corrupted. How do you wish to proceed with this new information?"

  ?I will take it slow, Homer decided, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. I am not going to force the memories. Right now, I just want to get to Muntinlupa, answer whatever questions Nero has for me, and leave. I need to continue my quest to Poblacion.

  ?His internal conversation with Castor was abruptly cut short.

  ?"What are you doing, dawdling back there?"

  ?Homer blinked, realizing he had stopped walking. Elara was already standing by the heavy iron portcullis of the main gate. She had finished speaking to the guards and had her travel papers stamped.

  ?She gestured impatiently toward the open road leading out of the ruined city. "The sun is burning daylight, Homer. Are we leaving or not?”