Three billion souls sacrificed to stop the rest from ever dying.
Paddy was glad he was already sitting down. He might have collapsed to the floor otherwise, with the way the strength flowed immediately out of his legs. As it was, he put the mug down before he could cause any more damage to it, and sat back with his face in his hands.
Solomon had said before that he wasn't a good man. It was almost the first thing he'd said, back when Paddy first met him. That he wasn't a good man, and that he'd plotted the deaths of others for the sake of his own power. Paddy believed him even then - believed, at least, in the physical truth of those words. He hadn't believed Solomon was beyond saving. Still didn't, if he was being brutally honest with himself.
But three billion people.
Of course the Sanctuaries didn't know. Not even sorcerers could be arrogant enough to ignore something like that. How could anyone... how could anyone wake up in the morning, knowing that their grand purpose in life was to murder half the world, and go on like there was nothing wrong with that? Like they were actually doing the world some great service?
No deaths. No births. No life. No hardships, and therefore no victories. Free will would stagnate. Life would stagnate.
At least, Paddy managed to remind himself, Valkyrie's given up Necromancy as well.
Everyone was afraid of death. Paddy was afraid of death. It was natural, it was human, it was why humanity had survived for as long as it had - being afraid of the unknown kept people safe. Overcoming that fear was what life was all about, what made life worth living. You couldn't become stuck in that fear, as Necromancers had. You couldn't just... rid yourself of the source of that fear. It was wrong. It was immoral. Until a few minutes ago, Paddy would have said it was impossible.
"Solomon..." Paddy had absolutely no clue what to follow up with, so he stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Solomon."
Nope. Still nothing. Paddy's throat felt too dry to form words, or at least any more words than that. His head was starting to swim.
War, essentially, was inevitable.
Maybe that was how things were meant to be. At least now the Irish Sanctuary knew, thanks to Solomon. Maybe that was Solomon's purpose. Maybe that was why Solomon had seen Saint Gabriel, and been offered a way out. A way to be saved. Maybe a cult as deeply evil as the Necromancers were could only be eradicated through a preemptive attack.
And maybe not.
"This... event," Paddy eventually forced. This instantaneous mass murder. "It can only happen if there's a... Death Bringer, yes? Has anyone ever been that powerful?"
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Three billion souls sacrificed to stop the rest from ever dying.
Paddy was glad he was already sitting down. He might have collapsed to the floor otherwise, with the way the strength flowed immediately out of his legs. As it was, he put the mug down before he could cause any more damage to it, and sat back with his face in his hands.
Solomon had said before that he wasn't a good man. It was almost the first thing he'd said, back when Paddy first met him. That he wasn't a good man, and that he'd plotted the deaths of others for the sake of his own power. Paddy believed him even then - believed, at least, in the physical truth of those words. He hadn't believed Solomon was beyond saving. Still didn't, if he was being brutally honest with himself.
But three billion people.
Of course the Sanctuaries didn't know. Not even sorcerers could be arrogant enough to ignore something like that. How could anyone... how could anyone wake up in the morning, knowing that their grand purpose in life was to murder half the world, and go on like there was nothing wrong with that? Like they were actually doing the world some great service?
No deaths. No births. No life. No hardships, and therefore no victories. Free will would stagnate. Life would stagnate.
At least, Paddy managed to remind himself, Valkyrie's given up Necromancy as well.
Everyone was afraid of death. Paddy was afraid of death. It was natural, it was human, it was why humanity had survived for as long as it had - being afraid of the unknown kept people safe. Overcoming that fear was what life was all about, what made life worth living. You couldn't become stuck in that fear, as Necromancers had. You couldn't just... rid yourself of the source of that fear. It was wrong. It was immoral. Until a few minutes ago, Paddy would have said it was impossible.
"Solomon..." Paddy had absolutely no clue what to follow up with, so he stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Solomon."
Nope. Still nothing. Paddy's throat felt too dry to form words, or at least any more words than that. His head was starting to swim.
War, essentially, was inevitable.
Maybe that was how things were meant to be. At least now the Irish Sanctuary knew, thanks to Solomon. Maybe that was Solomon's purpose. Maybe that was why Solomon had seen Saint Gabriel, and been offered a way out. A way to be saved. Maybe a cult as deeply evil as the Necromancers were could only be eradicated through a preemptive attack.
And maybe not.
"This... event," Paddy eventually forced. This instantaneous mass murder. "It can only happen if there's a... Death Bringer, yes? Has anyone ever been that powerful?"