What of the weak?
Perhaps everyone except the strongest God of War.
Everyone else, every other species, had long since grown numb. Hollow and drained, as if it were their hearts—or perhaps their spirits.
To live was simply to live.
They did not even know whether they could make it through the day.
Nor did they know whether tomorrow or an accident would arrive first.
Humans feared that any other species might discover traces of them.
Because once they were discovered... it could mean their entire force would be wiped out.
The best possible outcome would be to sacrifice a part of themselves to save the whole and let some people escape.
But once their base was found, how many could actually get away? The answer was obvious...
Any nonhuman species discovering them would be fatal. No mistake, no matter how minor, was permitted in this era.
A mere few decades was the limit of their lifespans.
Generation after generation, immersed in what they had inherited...
They had long since forgotten what humans had once been like.
Perhaps they had lived in fear of the outside world from the moment they were born.
Perhaps at first glance, their daily lives seemed peaceful and tranquil, but who knew when everything might suddenly be torn apart like a sheet of paper, shredded with a single rip.
The Sea Dwellers had occupied the oceans for years, enjoying a brief period of peace.
Yet they only dared to hide within the sea, gazing from afar at everything terrifying on land.
Ever since their god had fallen, the Moon Watchers had settled on the moon in the heavens. They seemed to sit high above the clouds, but in truth, they simply did not dare descend to the surface.
Whenever the Beastmen went looking for food,