Utopian System

Time seemed to slow as Tarec launched a fireball directly at Fathoran's face.

The Founder, surprised by this final act of defiance, arched his back, narrowly avoiding the attack.

Though the fireball missed its mark, Tarec's rebellious attitude ignited a burning fury in Fathoran's eyes. "Insolent fool!" he roared, raising his sword with both hands.

The blade gleamed ominously, reflecting the dying flames of Tarec's salamander.

Tarec, mana-depleted, exhausted, and resigned, closed his eyes. He knew this was his end, but at least he would die with honor, refusing Fathoran's demands.

Fathoran's sword descended in a deadly arc, cutting through the air with a menacing whistle.

For an instant, Fathoran sensed something amiss.

The sound didn't quite fit.

Just as the blade was about to find its target, Fathoran realized why…

The sound wasn't coming from his sword.

It was the whistle of a flying spear.

Fathoran's superhuman reflexes allowed him to react in the last second. He twisted his body, dodging the spear aimed at his head.

However, he couldn't completely avoid the attack.

The spear's tip, imbued with corrosive energy, tore through his skin. Fathoran let out a grunt of pain and surprise. The wound wasn't deep, but it burned as if acid had been poured directly into his flesh.

Fathoran: 544 - 35 = 15 Resistance / 496 Armor Resistance.

Mana 39.

He staggered back several steps, his furious gaze searching for the source of this new attack.

The culprit was obvious…

The brat had arrived.

Suddenly, the carbon wall he had created to contain the summoners exploded inward. A massive hole opened in the barrier, and through it, a figure entered at breakneck speed.

Elio, clad in the System's Armor, landed at the entrance of the lobby.

The carbon from the destroyed wall converged around him, forming a swirling vortex of black particles. At his side, floating majestically, the small elephant serving as his invocation began to grow, absorbing the carbon and increasing in size.

Behind Elio, Lucien and Selene entered the room. And beyond them, like an unstoppable tide, hundreds of new summoners flooded the space, their salamanders glowing in anticipation.

Without wasting a second, Elio extended his hand. The spear that had wounded Fathoran flew back to him, drawn by his magnetic power.

Elio: 548 = 50 Resistance / 498 Armor Resistance.

Mana 39.5

But this time, Elio wouldn't wait for Fathoran. With a fluid gesture, he manipulated the carbon floating in the air, creating a prison around the patriarch.

Elio Mana: 38.5

The Founder, trapped in the carbon cage, growled in frustration. "You think this can contain me, boy?"

Elio didn't respond. Instead, he prepared to launch again, aiming once more at Fathoran's head.

The spear shot forward, its tip glowing with corrosive energy.

Elio Mana: 36.5

But Fathoran hadn't survived for 100 years for nothing. With a roar of effort, he generated the same corrosive energy that Elio had recently learned to use. The carbon prison melted, turning into a black, smoking liquid.

Fathoran Mana: 37

Fathoran, freed from his prison, managed to dodge the main attack, but couldn't avoid the spear's tip opening another cut on his cheek.

Fathoran: 509 - 35 = 1 Resistance / 473 Armor Resistance.

Blood and liquid carbon mixed on Fathoran's face, creating a grotesque mask. His eyes, burning with fury, locked onto Elio.

"Impressive, boy," Fathoran growled, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. "But you'll need more than tricks to defeat me."

Elio, with the spear back in his hand, adopted a combat stance.

Elio Mana: 36

"This isn't a trick. It's the future you fear. A future where power isn't concentrated in your hands. It's what we'll all know how to do, and it's just the beginning."

Around them, the armies on both sides eyed each other tensely, waiting for the signal to attack, but hoping it wouldn't be necessary…

Lucien and Selene positioned themselves strategically behind Elio, their swifts ready for action.

♢♢♢♢

The lobby of the central building had become an improvised battlefield.

Elio and Fathoran stood at the center, surrounded by their respective armies, the tension in the air palpable. It was a mirror image of their previous confrontation, but this time, the tables had turned dramatically.

The weapons in their hands were reversed.

Elio, with his spear raised high, radiated power from the System's Armor. Facing him, Fathoran wielded his sword, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

Now both had the same armor and a similar amount of mana and resistance. It was almost an even match.

The two leaders stared at each other intently, each evaluating the other, looking for any sign of weakness.

Fathoran, with a sardonic smile, broke the silence.

"Tell me, boy, wouldn't you prefer to send more soldiers before facing me? It seems you haven't learned the lesson from our last encounter. This time, I might succeed in cutting off your head."

Elio let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"You think you could get another invocation by massacring low-level soldiers? If you want to obtain more cores, you'll have to defeat me first."

Fathoran looked around, assessing the situation with narrowed eyes.

"Does this seem fair to you, Elio? You, your powerful allies, and an army against me and my small numbers. Where's your sense of honor?"

The mockery in his voice ignited something in Elio. His eyes blazed with fierce intensity, and when he spoke, his voice was charged with barely contained anger.

"Fair?" Elio spat. "Was it fair to take all the remaining mana from the turrets for 100 years, living in luxury at the expense of the entire city? Was it fair to hoard knowledge for yourself, denying people the opportunity to grow and improve?"

With each word, Elio's voice rose, resonating in the lobby and making even the bravest soldiers take a step back.

"The harem? The life of luxury while others barely survived? Does that seem fair to you!?"

Elio took a step forward.

"The families have abused their power for far too long! They've condemned generations to a life of misery and deprivation! And now you dare to speak of justice?"

Behind Elio, Lucien and Selene exchanged uncomfortable glances. Their smiles turned forced, shame and acceptance on their faces. They were aware of their own role in the system Elio was denouncing, but they were also advocates for change.

Fathoran regarded Elio with contempt.

"Very well," he finally said, his voice cold and calculating. "If that's how you think, there's nothing more to discuss. I'll eliminate you all together: the rebel and the rotten fruit that fell from my family tree."

Elio adjusted his grip on the spear. Fathoran, for his part, adopted a combat stance, his sword describing a menacing arc in the air.

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