{Chapter: 102: Awakening Under Siege}
Hosorn stood silently on the great emerald lawn of the Central Academy of Arcane Excellence, his expression unreadable beneath the shifting light of the Automag Wall descending from the heavens. His portable communicator buzzed incessantly at his hip, but he didn't bother glancing at it. His eyes remained fixed on the sky—on that vast shimmering wall of magical sigils and runes, stretching from horizon to horizon like the spine of a slumbering god suddenly awakened.
The translucent barrier pulsed with otherworldly colors, reacting to invisible forces, its descent an omen the whole world could see.
Though Hosorn was caught off guard by how quickly things had escalated, he wasn't completely unprepared. He had known something was coming—just not this soon, and not of this magnitude.
"It seems the Council's view on this matter is far more dire than I imagined…" he muttered to himself, his voice lost in the wind.
A week ago, after retrieving the memory crystal from Dex, Hosorn had spent hours analyzing its contents. Most of it was fragmented, corrupted by magical static or deliberate tampering. Yet the few intact shards were alarming enough to override protocol. He had sent everything, including his personal assessments, directly to the Parliament without delay.
After that, his hands were tied. Matters of such gravity were above his clearance, beyond his influence.
But now… now that the sky itself was bleeding magic and shielding itself from the cosmos, Hosorn understood.
The Parliament had decided to act. Decisively. Ruthlessly. Perhaps desperately.
He closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath. "At least I wasn't wrong. At least I wasn't too late."
This declaration of war—if not against a visible enemy, then certainly against a future event—had the potential to avert unspeakable catastrophe. If acted upon early, it might even reshape history in favor of their world.
Suddenly, his communicator vibrated again. This time, he answered.
He read the encoded message without expression. After a pause, he looked up toward the sky again, then turned and walked purposefully toward the heart of the academy.
A few minutes later, a ripple of unseen magic spread outward as Hosorn breached the ancient ward known as the Silent Heart, a protective dome that could block even time-related spells.
Then came the call—an ancient summoning tone resonating through enchanted bells, speaking not through sound, but directly into the minds of every student, faculty member, and staff mage in the academy.
---
On the great central platform, Hosorn stood alone. Beneath him, hundreds of thousands of robed figures gathered like a sea of candle flames. Students ranging from the fresh-faced to the battle-hardened. Professors who had fought and taught for centuries. War Mages, Enchanters, Alchemists, and Summoners. Some whispered. Most stood in stunned silence.
Hosorn's gaze swept over them.
He didn't know how many would survive. Perhaps not even himself.
He was a Fifth-Level Wizard—strong by all civilized measures. But in a war that could engulf worlds, even the mighty were little more than sparks against a tide.
His voice rang out—not loud, but impossibly clear—as ancient acoustic enchantments carried his words into every ear, every heart:
"You've all felt the shift in the air. You've seen the Wall in the sky. Some of you may already suspect what this means. Let me confirm it for you: we are now at war."
He let the words settle. The silence that followed was heavy.
"This is not like the competitions between academies. Not a contest of pride. This is a war of survival. And for those of you who've studied history, you'll know the weight that term carries."
A brief pause.
"This is the first world war in one hundred thousand years."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Many of the precious materials you've dreamed of—all the rare tomes, elixirs, artifacts—will be made accessible. The Council has decreed that nothing shall be hoarded. Knowledge will flow freely. Resources will be granted. Advancement will be accelerated. For one simple reason: our world may not survive without it."
He then raised a scroll of enchanted parchment.
"I will now read the official declaration."
The air trembled as he spoke:
"On July 11th, 4578,4543, intelligence confirmed that an alien civilization known as the Garnsor had successfully inserted agents into the core territories of our world using unknown dimensional bypass methods. These agents were equipped with anti-prophecy and cloaking far beyond our standard comprehension. After analyzing the data, the Wizard Council has declared their intentions hostile, and through confirmed divinations, we estimate that their world will establish full contact with ours within two years.
From this moment onward, the Wizarding World enters a state of Total War. All existing protocols are hereby suspended. All laws and actions are now subject to the Doctrine of Global Defense. Adapt, survive, or perish."
He lowered the scroll, gaze still steel.
"This is our new reality."
---
Meanwhile, watching from the edge of the crowd, a young man named Saya stared at Hosorn with wide, uncertain eyes.
He didn't know what to feel. Couldn't tell if he was lucky or cursed.
Why? he thought bitterly. Why me? Why now? Of all times to be born… it had to be the century of the first world war in a hundred millennia?
He wasn't even a full wizard yet—still an apprentice, still caught in the limbo between powerlessness and promise. And now the world demanded heroism.
"This can't be real," he whispered to himself, fists clenched. "I'm not ready… I'm not ready for any of this…"
Around him, many felt the same. Confusion reigned. The ancient questions resurfaced in a new form: Who am I? Where am I? What am I supposed to do?
Even the most secluded mortal kingdoms—those distant from the crystal towers of the wizarding elite and far from the roaring portals of the Automag Wall—were thrown into utter chaos.
To them, war was a legend; a story whispered around hearth fires. Interdimensional invasions were the stuff of prophecy, not politics. And yet, as word of the Automag Wall's activation echoed through every realm, monarchs trembled, thrones shook, and entire courts collapsed into disorder.
Their armies, built for parades and border skirmishes, were useless. Their war manuals outdated. New laws were scrawled in frenzy. Panic-drunk decrees flowed like wine.
But it was the second decree—not the wall, not the war—that shattered what little sanity remained.
> "Increase population at all costs." <
A simple phrase, almost laughable in its starkness. But no one was laughing.
Royal scholars dissected the meaning. Was it symbolic? Arcane? A puzzle left by higher minds? Some dared to hope it was a bluff.
The next message arrived—this time burned into the skies above every capital, carried on spectral wind and sealed by the Council's blood-marked sigil:
> "Within three days, all citizens of reproductive viability must be wed and engaged in carnal union. Status, consent, age, and existing vows are meaningless. Non-compliance is treason. Penalty: public execution." <
And with that, the civilized world collapsed into institutional madness.
Nobles, peasants, clergy, soldiers—all were herded like animals. Marriage rites turned to state-sponsored breeding assignments. Sanctified temples became ritual chambers, echoing with forced vows and muffled sobs. Priests, once holy, now officiated dozens of pairings an hour, trembling as they sanctified flesh under the threat of execution squads.
Virgins were prized, sorted, and auctioned by health and genetic potential. The barely-of-age were ripped from their homes, examined by cold-eyed midwives and forced into binding contracts. Some collapsed from terror. Others were drugged. All were taken.
Public gallows operated around the clock.
Those who refused were executed in front of their families. Their limp, swinging bodies stood as monuments to disobedience. Mothers wept as daughters were shackled. Fathers died with spears in their skulls trying to resist. No tears could slow the gears now turning.
Entire cities were transformed into breeding zones—squalid, groaning hives where flesh met flesh under the howling decree of survival. Overseers patrolled the unions, ensuring consummation. Screams, moans, and cries for help became the new national anthem.
The Council issued no apologies. Their silence was more deafening than any speech.
Survival was law.
Desire was irrelevant.
Reproduction was sacred.
Morality was obsolete.
And so the kingdoms bled… not in battle,
but in beds forced to become warfronts of their own.
---
Five Days Later
Deep beneath the academy, where sunlight never reached, in one of the dozens of vast underground biomes known only to high-ranking staff, Saya had found a strange form of clarity.
He now worked in the thirty-sixth-floor animal pen space—a realm sealed in a different dimension, constructed through ancient wizardcraft and reinforced by legions of bound spirits.
Here, thousands of species of magical beasts were bred and harvested, their lineages tracked across millennia. Their instincts dulled, their memories erased, their purpose reduced to war and reproduction.
Their souls were bound by oath-magic from birth, their once-proud intelligence now reduced to something akin to a dog's, or worse.
The system was simple and merciless.
Beasts too large were sealed in stasis to conserve resources. Those unfit for service were culled, their bodies repurposed—meat, bone, hide, mana-rich organs.
Saya oversaw a small corner of the 11th floor—a region still the size of a small city.
There, millions of recently revived monsters snarled, fed, and bred under his eye.
He directed slaves—mute, magically shackled humanoids—to carry crates of enchanted meat and alchemical nutrient paste. The beasts consumed endlessly, preparing for the war to come.
*****
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