Chapter 118: Chapter 118: System's Winner

The impact of the corrosive stake left Lucien and Selene gasping on the ground, their bodies wracked with pain.

Their once-immaculate armor now bore cracks and emitted wisps of acrid smoke. Every breath was a laborious effort, and the slightest movement sent waves of agony through their battered forms.

Without needing to exchange words, both Summoners knew that another attack of similar magnitude would be fatal.

Around them, a sepulchral silence had descended upon the huddled soldiers.

Many eyes were fixed on Lucien and Selene, their owners acutely aware that these powerful Summoners now stood as the last line of defense against Fathoran's total victory.

Tarec, positioned among the crowd, clenched his fists with a burning desire to help. He had witnessed Fathoran's power firsthand and knew that without mana, he would be nothing more than a hindrance. The frustration of his powerlessness gnawed at him, a bitter taste in his mouth.

With supreme effort, Lucien managed to stand.

His hand trembled visibly as he raised his sword, its blade now stained with his own blood.

He uttered no grand words, made no heroic gestures. His determination manifested in the way he positioned himself once more between Fathoran and Elio, a living shield against the onslaught.

Selene, not to be outdone, also rose to stand beside Lucien.

Her fists, still imbued with a faint nickel glow, raised in a defensive posture. Her breathing was ragged, and a thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of her lips, but her eyes blazed with an unbreakable resolve.

Fathoran observed the scene with growing irritation.

Every passing second was precious, and he could feel that his mana reserves would only allow for one more attack. His eyes darted rapidly between Lucien, Selene, and Elio's motionless form, calculating his next move with cold precision.

The cores Selene and Lucien had wouldn't be enough to achieve his goals. His gaze settled on Elio, the true prize.

Without a word, Fathoran launched himself forward, his movements a blur of deadly intent.

The Founder pushed forward, gaining ground towards Elio. Both swifts pushed back simultaneously, slowing his advance but not halting it completely.

Lucien-Selene Mana: 9

Fathoran cut through the wind with his blade and advanced further still, his determination unwavering.

Lucien and Selene exchanged a quick glance. They couldn't risk an area-of-effect damage combo for fear of harming the soldiers, but perhaps a more direct approach...

It wouldn't be as swift or cover as wide an area as the swift's push, nor as certain as decapitation, but in their injured state, close combat was no longer a viable option.

They began launching ice balls, their movements synchronized despite their exhaustion.

Lucien-Selene Mana: 8

Fathoran, with feline reflexes, cut through the first two projectiles. It was to be expected that despite the speed boost from the swift, Fathoran was still faster.

Lucien managed to shift, avoiding a direct hit to his heart, but a lung was punctured. The System kept him alive, but the pain and lack of air brought him crashing to the ground.

Selene, enraged at seeing her comrade fall, propelled herself forward with her swift.

Selene Mana: 1

Her fist, weak but precise and charged with nickel magic, found its mark. The Founder grunted as the blow connected with his face.

Selene Mana: 0

Fathoran: 35 - 24 = 1 Resistance / 10 Armor Resistance

Fathoran was at the limit of his resistance, but he showed no sign of it in his haughty expression.

He was doing what was necessary, nothing more, nothing less.

With a fluid motion, Fathoran grabbed Selene's extended arm and sliced it with his sword.

Selene: 85 - 10 crit = 4 Resistance / 70 Armor Resistance.

The Summoner's scream of pain as she lost her arm was muffled when Fathoran used her as a human shield against Lucien, who was attempting to rise once more.

The soldiers watched, paralyzed with horror, as the scene unfolded before them.

Each of Fathoran's movements was precise and lethal, wasting neither energy nor mana.

Fathoran ran towards Elio, knowing that the young leader was now the true threat. He would finish Lucien and Selene later, but Elio's death took precedence.

Despite their valor and determination, Lucien and Selene were now little more than obstacles in Fathoran's path. Their bodies, pushed beyond their limits, were beginning to fail them.

The Founder was now mere steps away from his objective. Elio's System's Armor continued to glow, on the verge of expelling the stake and regenerating the damage, but it was a race against time.

Fathoran stood tall, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over Elio's fallen form. The System's Armor shone intensely, a clear sign that regeneration was nearly complete.

"I've won," Fathoran murmured, a note of finality in his voice.

As he raised his sword to deliver the final blow and sever Elio's neck, Fathoran couldn't help but recall God's words, spoken so long ago:

"Do whatever is necessary to survive."

And that was exactly what he was doing.

In his mind, this was about the very survival of humanity as he understood it.

"I'LL TAKE THOSE CORES!"

The stake in Elio's heart clattered to the ground, expelled by the System's Armor, but it seemed too late.