Utopian System

"What are you made of, Motherfucker?"

Fathoran's eyes narrowed. He remembered the moment when Elio killed his descendants, then, with a growl, he raised the lance.

As the lance's tip drew ever closer, Elio, exhausted and bleeding, concentrated intensely.

"It's in these moments that we know what we're made of,"

The words were now etched in his soul.

The Patriarch, blinded by his fury, launched a direct and brutal attack. The lance whistled through the air, its deadly point aimed directly at Elio's face.

The lance's whistle grew louder with each passing millisecond.

In that critical instant, Elio's heightened perception, coupled with his extreme concentration, allowed him to see the attack.

With a movement born of pure desperation and adrenaline, Elio tilted his head to one side at the last possible moment.

The lance passed so close he could feel the air displaced by its passage.

Elio counterattacked. His sword, already in motion, headed straight for Fathoran's eye.

Piercing the Patriarch's skull.

That's how he would win.

But Fathoran, with reflexes honed by a century of practice, also moved at the last instant.

Elio's sword, instead of finding its lethal target, left a deep cut on the Patriarch's cheek.

Fathoran: 323 - 5 = 45 Resistance / 273 Armor Resistance

Blood instantly gushed, staining Fathoran's face and splattering the air between them.

"Damn brat!" Fathoran roared, his voice laden with pain and fury. The wound, though not fatal, had achieved what seemed impossible for Elio…

Cutting the patriarch with the sword and rebounding his taunts.

Enraged by his failure and Elio's audacity, Fathoran decided to end the fight once and for all. With a movement so fast it was barely visible, Fathoran twisted Elio's hand and snatched the sword, leaving him unarmed and vulnerable.

Fathoran smiled, a cold expression devoid of joy. "Game over, boy," he growled, raising Elio's sword.

Fathoran attacked, determined to end this.

Elio, desperate, tried to dodge the sword, looking for a way out. But Fathoran, anticipating his movement, used the lance tip to cut off his escape.

Elio found himself trapped, the lance blocking his path on one side, the sword threatening on the other.

Elio's brain raced wildly.

He could feel death's breath on his neck.

Each instant seemed to stretch to infinity, charged with unbearable tension.

The world seemed to stop, each detail etching itself into his mind: the gleam of metal, Fathoran's contorted face, the smell of blood and sweat permeating the air.

Elio's head was pierced and his neck sliced by the impacts.

That never came.

A fireball, bright and fierce, impacted Fathoran. The Patriarch screamed, more from surprise than pain, as the flames licked his armor.

Fathoran: 323 - 3 = 46 Resistance / 269 Armor Resistance

Before he could recover, another fireball hit him, and then another.

Fathoran: 323 - 2 - 3 = 47 Resistance / 263 Armor Resistance

Suddenly, the air was filled with the roar of flames.

Fathoran stepped back, raising his arms to protect himself from the barrage of attacks.

Through the smoke and flames, Elio saw familiar figures: his friends, standing a few meters away, their hands extended and smoking.

But they weren't alone. Beside them, a group of soldiers, their faces marked by anger and fear, launched similar attacks.

Elio recognized the magic: it was salamander fire.

The cores he had asked them to distribute.

The salamanders he had given them.

Fathoran roared in fury, trying to cut through the attacks with his sword, the trick he had taught the traitor Lucien one day. But for every attack he blocked, two more reached him.

Fathoran: 49 Resistance / 234 Armor Resistance

The air crackled with magical energy, the fire creating a deadly dance around the Patriarch. Fathoran, for the first time in decades, seemed genuinely surprised.

Elio watched the scene in amazement, his mind struggling to process what was happening.

Fathoran, surrounded by an ever-tightening circle of new summoners, quickly assessed the situation. His eyes, normally cold and calculating, now shone with fury and... fear?

"So you've obtained more cores than I thought," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. "Clever, boy. Very clever."

With surprising speed, he dodged some of the attacks and headed for the bodies of the fallen summoners, absorbing their cores and mana.

Afterwards...

Fathoran leapt, landing on the roof of a nearby house. The fire attacks followed him, but now he had more room to maneuver.

Fathoran began jumping from roof to roof, heading towards the central building.

Some tried to follow him, but most were level 2, few level 3. He was too fast for them, so they decided to return to Elio.

♢♢♢♢

Elio, still panting from the effort and adrenaline, watched Fathoran's retreat with relief but also concern.

Elio couldn't help but think about what would come next.

Fathoran was wounded, but not defeated. If he managed to recover some Mana and eliminate some of the new summoners, he could obtain the fourth summon.

As the echo of the battle faded, Zara ran towards Elio, her eyes bright with tears of relief. Without a word, she wrapped him in a fierce embrace, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

Elio, surprised for a moment, returned the embrace with equal intensity.

He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling her scent, grounding himself in her warmth. For a brief moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them, a small island of comfort in a sea of chaos.

Suddenly, the weight of everything that had happened fell on him like an avalanche. The tears began to flow freely, soaking Zara's shoulder. His body shook with silent sobs, the pent-up emotion finally finding release.

The memory of his family's loss returned with renewed force, mixing with the relief of having survived and the guilt for the lives lost.

Elio clung to Zara like a lifeline as he fought to stay afloat in the sea of his emotions.

A few meters away, the rest of the group gathered around the bodies of Raelar and Varick. Micah knelt beside Raelar, his face a mask of pain. "He was... he was a great teacher," he murmured, his voice breaking.

'And a hero' Lucien, his face pale and eyes reddened, nodded silently. The loss of Raelar and Varick weighed on him like a slab. Selene, beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, silently sharing his pain.

Zara, feeling Elio's particularly intense sobs, pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Elio," she said softly, "does the death of Varick and Raelar affect you so much? It shouldn't be so..."

Elio, his voice choked, "Varick... he saved me. He apologized and I... I didn't forgive him in time. And not just that... my family...

my mother, my siblings..."

Zara frowned, confused. "What are you talking about, Elio? Your family is safe. Varick and Ivan got them out in time before the summoners arrived."

Elio froze, his eyes widening. "What... what did you say?"

"Your family is alive, Elio," Zara repeated, a small smile forming on her lips, despite the general sadness. "Look."

Slowly, as if fearing it was an illusion that would vanish at any moment, Elio turned his head. There, behind the procession of new Summoners who hadn't joined the battle, he saw a familiar figure.

His mother, Lena, was standing, surrounded by his siblings. Her eyes, filled with tears but bright with pride and relief, met Elio's.

The world seemed to stop. Elio felt his heart skip a beat, then another. The reality of what he was seeing took a few seconds to penetrate the fog of pain and guilt that had clouded his mind.

"They're alive," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "They're alive."

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