The marchers had finally seized the spot of the effigy of Gwasila. They got to work immediately. They have a task today. They wish to pronounce their presence over the city. They aren’t a group that can be swept away. The last century has seen a slight on their power through the (technical) abolition of demihuman slavery.
None of them understand why Osva would allow that to take place. Of course, they don’t understand what he’s really thinking anyways, so that much is expected.
Many young humans are on their side, but a lot of them are not. Most among them are still from older generations. If they can have their way today, they can get more humans to join them in their great purpose. The Baron is on their side as well. There is nothing that the unclean demihumans can do about that.
The marchers feel good about this. Self satisfied.
Part of their project is to make the people that they despise feel angered. The shouts of protest against their march is music to their ears. All they see are mongrels, pedophiles, whores, and savage beasts on the other side. If they are hated by such people, how could their cause not be righteous?
This is their place in the world. They are the ones who are supposed to be venerated. They are and always will be the dominant race.
Now that they are here in front of mighty Gwasila, they start by toppling the statue. It is mostly a wooden construct and it isn’t meant to last; it falls easily. Some of them take out blunt weapons and start breaking through its limbs and torso. Splinters fly as they take out some of their anger on the effigy.
They feel no remorse. Some of them shout to the crowd in self indulgence asking them, “Weren’t you mutts going to burn this thing down anyways?”
After breaking down the statue into small enough pieces, they burn each piece in the center of the square. They burn it all individually, subtly working opposite to the spirit of this festival. The point of burning Gwasila down was supposed to be a ritual of rebirth.
Just as how Gwasila left his place as monarch of the crawlers and entered the blue forest, the forest represented by the all consuming fire. That beautiful forest, one that has no equal on all of Omicron, extending far, wide and high. By burning Gwasila in pieces, they are holding Gwasila’s cremation; the ritual loses its significance.
Of course, most don’t think of the effigy in terms of a slightly nonsensical metaphor. They think of it in terms of tradition. Every year, they, mostly demihuman men, women and especially children, gather to watch the statue burn. This year, the tradition was not only canceled, but corrupted by those who spread only resentment.
Ajax, Shaula, Angelidis, Sigvor and Dzan watch this all play out. They see the marchers put piece after piece of Gwasila into the fire. The marchers remain standing around the fire surrounded and protected on all sides by the guards. It cannot be argued that they are the ones in control tonight.
“Fuck…” Angelidis comments, truly angry. This march that only spreads pain and misery through racial hatred is just a gathering of assholes. The crowd is angry alongside her. They want to exact vengeance against these scumbags. But, they have learned what happens when they try to stand their ground.
The guards will respond in force and inflict pain.
Angelidis feels frustrated. She and this whole crowd of demihumans cannot go against the police. Even if she decided to give into her hatred, she would not get far. These city guards are fully armored with magical weapons. The most she can fight by herself is one guard. Victory isn’t guaranteed either even if her opponent is only human.
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Their weak human bodies garbed in magnificent magical armor wield power cruelly.
“Jelli… Are you sure I should hold myself back?” Shaula asks. Ajax watches the two of them converse. He might not join her but he would not stop her either. They’re both slightly…
“Insane. Shaula, are you insane? You might not understand just by looking at them, but those guards are wearing high tier armor and weaponry. Whatever you’ve seen in guards in your village is nothing in comparison. I don’t even know the amount of pseudo spells that their equipment is packing. They’re each at least as strong as my father was during his prime. Some of them are probably twice or thrice as strong.”
“...What if I can take them on even considering that?” Shaula says, her voice dropping low, cold and stern. Angelidis holds back a gasp.
She knows that she should fear Shaula. She’s starting to wonder if the two of them are actually young heroic noblemen. The only reason she doesn’t believe that to be the case is that they’re just too kind to demihumans. Their eye color as well is a giveaway, but they could be using magic to hide their true nature.
Maybe a noble dumped a kid off to a small village in the middle of nowhere. She really doesn’t seem like she’s fucking joking. I hope she’s just a bit fucking stupid and bad at sizing up an opponent, but…
Angelidis sighs. She speaks in a whisper, confident that Shaula and even Ajax can still hear her among this noisy crowd.
“Shaula. Remember, they have a lot of power. This is a region in Omicron where there aren’t that many draconids, you know? You know what that means? These are some of the weakest guards in all of the Federation. And, they can still kill each and every one of the demihumans here, including me, without much trouble. They receive combat training, strength training, magic training and top notch high grade equipment even in this ‘low risk’ city. There are a lot of cities in the Federation where draconids live in the millions. Over there, they have holy knights patrolling the city and the guards are many times more powerful. My point is that you’ll be fucking flabbergasted at how quickly the guards in this little shithole increase in strength when there is even one commoner who can go toe to toe with them as a group. Even if you have that kind of strength, which I pray that you don’t show off here, please have some fucking sense…”
“...I’m sorry, Jelli.”
“You don’t have to apologize… I know you care. I know you do. But, sometimes, there is nothing that you or I can do when the world is the way it is. I’m not about to start fighting the weather next.”
Ajax, Shaula, Angelidis, Dzan and Sigvor stick around as the atmosphere of the protest gets worse and worse. Despair floods in like carbon monoxide. A couple hours pass as the marchers continue to slowly burn individual pieces of the statue in their bonfire. They’ve loosened up a bit and have stopped chanting.
They instead laugh and laugh and laugh. The guards still watch and protect them while holding all the protesters back. They haven’t tried using that pain spray again which is truly fortunate. The protesters have learned their lesson and didn’t need to learn it twice.
Angelidis’ mood slowly worsens as the protest continues. Shaula wonders if she should ask her to get some food for their group so she doesn’t have to stand here wallowing. But, Angelidis still doesn’t want to leave. Even though she feels despair, she still won’t leave.
Right now is a bad time anyways. The marchers have finally stopped their burning, as the fire is properly smothered, no cinders remaining. Only ash. One of the marchers takes out a cloth sack. He moves the ashes into the sack to get rid of it. This is faster than just waiting for them to blow away in the wind.
Now they wait for something. They haven’t built their statue just yet so they don’t have everything they need to get it started.
Meanwhile, Prisca and her friends join Angelidis and their company in the audience. They all see a new figure among the crowd of marchers. A man wearing an oval shaped featureless mask over his face. Angelidis recognizes who it is.
“The statue mage…”