When the virus had first started to spread, you knew something was wrong. Something this pervasive, this intelligent, couldn't have been the work of a regular human. No, this reeked of sorcery. And so you delved into tome upon tome, searching for an answer to a problem you couldn't yet identify. Eventually your research yielded fruit, a way to shield your genetics from the disaster that would follow. Taking your results to the High Council of Magi, the greatest wizards from around the globe, you pleaded with them to allow you to spread the cure to all of humankind. The traditionalists on the council argued against it, as it violated the Code of Magi that had kept the regular world separate from the magical one for millennium. You, as well as the more progressive wizards saw the real threat that this presented. What was the point in separating the two worlds if one would surely perish? There weren't enough male wizards left to continue humanity alone without drastic measures.
But it was all for naught. Before debate had closed, the virus had reached whatever conditions the evil that had created it had set and struck. Mankind was struck down in an instant, as all of those who had not benefited from your diligence perished, leaving only you and your fellow wizards behind. And so it was left to all of you with your powers to pick up the pieces of this shattered world.
Teleporting home from the high summit, you watched from your scrying glass as females around the world struggled in panic. Sighing, your head in your hands, you knew something had to be done. Little by little you'd rebuild this world, in your own image if need be. But the question was, how would you do it? What kind of man were you really?
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