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Elio, Lucien, and Selene, shielded by the bodies of their fallen comrades, stared at the scene in horror. The reality of what had transpired took several agonizing moments to penetrate their stunned minds.

Fathoran looked at his hands with awe and horror. He had killed his own great-grandson.

For a moment, the weight of his actions seemed to crack his iron resolve, but he quickly steeled himself.

This was just another necessary sacrifice, he lied to himself, ignoring the tremor in his hands.

Selene was the first to react. A scream of pure rage escaped her throat, tearing through the air like a physical force. Her eyes, filled with tears of fury, locked onto Fathoran.

Without a second thought, she channeled another point of her remaining mana into an attack fueled by rage.

As Fathoran's mana depleted, Elio's prison gradually vanished.

Freed from his carbon cage, Elio fell to his knees. A few meters in front of him lay Varick's body, his face frozen in a small smile.

Elio remained motionless, unable to process what had just happened.

Those he believed to be his enemies... so many of them... had protected him.

Was he wrong?

A wave of nausea hit him, an oppressive sensation gripping his throat.

Elio retched, emptying what little remained in his stomach. The bitter taste in his mouth matched the acrid smell of destruction around him.

"Varick," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why?"

Varick, his childhood tormentor, had given his life for him?

Confusion mixed with overwhelming guilt in his mind.

Elio extended a trembling hand towards Varick. Did he really hate him? All those years of abuse and humiliation seemed so distant now. Varick had changed, had tried to redeem himself, and Elio hadn't given him the chance.

Instead... he had brutally beaten him. Varick hadn't even defended himself, only apologized. The memory of Varick's bloodied face, his eyes full of remorse, flashed in Elio's mind.

"I'm sorry," Elio whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

He looked at his hands, stained with the blood of friends and enemies alike. The vengeance he had sought now tasted bitter. "Did I do wrong?" he asked, more to himself than to others.

Lucien, shaken by Selene's scream and the pain, joined her.

Together, Selene and Lucien threw everything they had at Fathoran.

The air crackled with the energy of their combined attacks. Wind and ice intertwined in a deadly dance.

But Fathoran, despite his exhaustion, still had overwhelming resistance.

Selene and Lucien: 0 Mana

Fathoran: 50 Resistance / 273 Armor Resistance

Fathoran, despite his lack of mana, was still physically stronger, faster, and had better reflexes than his opponents. Worst of all, without mana or a weapon, they couldn't hurt him.

With a roar, he lunged forward. His fists moved like pistons, each blow carrying the force of a battering ram.

Lucien managed to dodge the first strike, the wind from Fathoran's fist ruffling his hair. He tried to draw his sword, but the second punch caught him squarely in the face.

Lucien: 13

Selene attempted to take advantage of the distraction to go for Elio's lance, but Fathoran was too quick. He spun on himself and his elbow connected with Selene's jaw, sending her to the ground.

Selene: 14

The battle had devolved into a brutal, hand-to-hand struggle.

Amidst the chaos, Varen began to stir. Dazed and confused, he slowly got to his feet, his head spinning from the recent events.

His eyes, still unfocused, scanned the scene before him. He saw Fathoran, his leader and mentor, fighting against Lucien and Selene. He saw the bodies of Varick and Raelar on the ground, their blood staining the pavement.

For a moment, he hesitated. Who should he support? All his life, he had blindly followed Fathoran, but recent events had sown the seed of doubt in his mind.

Fathoran, taking advantage of a moment of distraction, managed to knock Lucien down with a devastating blow. Lucien fell to the ground, dazed and bleeding, his eyes struggling to focus.

Varen saw his opportunity. Years of resentment and envy towards Lucien bubbled up inside him, overriding his doubts. With a twisted smile that didn't reach his eyes, he began to advance towards his fallen rival. At last, he could eliminate Lucien, everyone's favorite, the "best" summoner on the wall.

Selene screamed, a sound of pure desperation. She tried to reach Lucien, but Fathoran stopped her, his hand closing around her throat like a vice. She clawed at his arm, gasping for air, her feet dangling off the ground.

Varen stopped next to Lucien, his eyes gleaming with a madness born of resentment. He raised his hand, ready to launch a fireball and burn his rival's skull once and for all. The air around his palm began to shimmer with heat.

As Varen's hand began to glow with the telltale signs of a forming fireball, time seemed to slow. The crackling of the nascent flame mixed with Selene's choked gasps and Fathoran's labored breathing, creating a haunting symphony of impending doom.

Then... A spear crossed through Varen's skull.

Elio's hand, outstretched towards Varick's body, began to tremble. The bitter taste of bile lingered in his mouth.

For a moment, he was lost in a whirlpool of guilt and confusion.

Still kneeling, Elio felt the world slow down around him. The faces of his family flashed before his eyes, his mother's kind smile, his sisters' laughter, little Rian's innocent gaze.

They were gone, taken from him.

His family was still dead. Nothing could change that...

"I will not let you down, mother"

"What are you made of, son?"

Fury, courage... Sheer will... Lies.

Vengeance, madness , sin... No.

"You are a warrior, born to face challenges with courage and wisdom like your father."

"I will not let you down, mother"

The grief and confusion that had paralyzed him moments ago crystallized into a cold, hard resolve. His family was dead, yes, but he could still fight for the city.

He could still make their sacrifice mean something.

He could still make his mother proud.

He blinked, his vision clearing. Lucien lay on the ground, Varen looming over him with murderous intent. Selene struggled in Fathoran's grip, her face turning red from lack of air.

A realization dawned on Elio: if Lucien and Selene truly were his allies, then they, along with his friends, were all he had left in this world. He couldn't let them die.

With a grunt of effort, Elio pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked onto his lance, lying forgotten amidst the chaos. In three quick strides, he reached it, his hand closing around the familiar grip.

The weight of the weapon in his hand felt right, like an extension of his own body.