It couldn't really be that man and nature lived in such harmony that the flocks of crows simply chose never to harm humans and even wanted to protect them.
Zeroy quickly thought of another possibility.
As she cut down zombies, she had also protected humans—though rarely, since most of the time she killed all the zombies and people were safe by default, without her sparing the attention or time.
Maybe these flocks were clever enough to notice, from her actions and words, that she protected humans.
'See? I am protective. Even little crows can tell.'
She had no more questions. What remained was cleansing the pests—With a sharp snap of her fingers, a massive magic circle opened beneath the survivors.
The entire crowd split into two, teleported apart into left and right groups.
Over four thousand on one side, about five hundred on the other.
Confused, they soon realized they were silenced and bound again.
Then Zeroy blinked, thoughtful. Another glow flared—two individuals separated.
She had felt their energy spike far beyond ordinary humans. Reincarnators from the Main God Space.
For now, she ignored them. They were too weak to break Patchouli's binding.
Above, the black storm of crows wheeled, living canopy overhead.
Zeroy stood on high ruins, golden hair whipping in the bloody wind, emerald eyes sharp as blades.
She looked down at the two groups: one of trembling innocents, the other, over four thousand judged as pests.
Her voice rang low, resolute, slicing through the crowd:
"I will remake this world. Free it from viruses, zombies, and leering predators. The innocent shall return to the peace and daily life they long for."
"Pure sunlight will once more shine. Air untainted by rot. Schools ringing with children's laughter. Markets alive with bustling voices—"
Her gaze turned to the pests, her tone freezing: "But none of this concerns you. Only those who still keep their conscience may find redemption. You, who revel in pain, beasts and pests—hell is your home. You go nowhere else!"
"It's time to pay for your deeds. You chose this path. Now swallow its fruit."
Zeroy lifted her Striker Blade, tip aimed at them, gleaming cold: "Go. Tear their filthy flesh. Let their howling souls become the foundation of a new world!"
The sky-blackening flocks dove like a storm, beaks and claws shredding air, descending on the pests.
When silence spells broke, screams and pleas erupted, blood blooming among feathers in a hellish feast.
Zeroy had placed the two groups in sight of each other.
The innocents stared, horrified, at the carnage. The sinners writhed, eyes locked on the unharmed innocents, hoping their souls would remember what must and must not be done—if they still had souls after.
"Don't let them die quickly. Hellfire thirsts for their souls."
The crows obeyed. Their attacks grew precise, cruel.
They did not kill. They tore flesh, ripped tendons, leaving life barely clinging.
The chorus of screams weakened, air heavy with iron and despair.
At last, Zeroy raised her palm. Crimson Hellfire danced in it like a living thing.
She cast it. The fire threaded among the flocks, consuming the maimed pests. Flames wound through wounds, into organs, burning souls from within.
The birds were untouched, the fire illusory to them.
Only when the wails died and the souls were ash did silence fall. All that remained was scorched ruin and drifting cinders.
The flocks wheeled back, swirling above her in a black vortex.
Her gaze fell on the innocent group.
Some gaped, nails digging deep into palms, instinctively afraid. Some trembled, lips muttering denial—justice couldn't be so brutal.
Others shut their eyes, pity wrestling with the horror.
And some fell to their knees.
Cracked lips moved in prayer, tears cutting paths in grime. When they saw tormentors consumed by Hellfire, they shook, smiling painfully—faces twisted with both grief and grim joy. The look of the broken finally seeing hope.
The apocalypse was a mirror.
With law shattered, morals gone, too many tore off civilization's mask, letting desire drown all restraint.
They unleashed their beasts, free of rules, reveling in darkness.
They gave in to greed and cruelty, inflicting torment on innocents. Treating the weak as toys. Abusing, plundering, harming.
They fought for cans in burning markets, screams rang from basements, frail backs bowed over broken glass.
They were no longer human. Humanity lies in restraining bestial urges, in faith in morality and beauty—in flowers blooming above ugliness, in ideals and emotions worth praise.
In this cruel wasteland, innocents bore no sin, yet were preyed on simply for weakness.
They had no power.
Too weak to resist, holding to their lines, refusing to sink to beasts.
Justice's spark had died. None avenged them. The wicked ran free. No god showed retribution.
Until Zeroy came.
...
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