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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.

But Lucien and Selene were not just any summoners; they were the best on the wall.

Lucien launched another ice ball while Selene used her swift to push Fathoran towards it. Caught off guard, the patriarch barely managed to cover himself with his cloak.

Lucien-Selene Mana: 7

Fathoran: 58 - 4 = 1 Resistance / 53 Armor Resistance

The combo worked four more times, each hit chipping away at Fathoran\'s defenses.

Lucien-Selene Mana: 3

Fathoran: 54 - 16 = 1 Resistance / 38 Armor Resistance

Lucien and Selene had no way of knowing Fathoran\'s remaining resistance, but they could see the toll their attacks were taking.

The Patriarch, growing accustomed to their strategy, finally cut through the next attack.

Lucien-Selene Mana: 2

Fathoran lunged at them, closing the distance with frightening speed.

Lucien, in a desperate move, threw his sword like a projectile towards Fathoran. The Founder deflected it with his own blade, but the maneuver cost him valuable time.

Seizing the moment of distraction, Lucien managed to connect his magic to Fathoran\'s side.

Lucien Mana: 1

But at the last instant, Fathoran covered himself with his cloak, minimizing the damage.

Fathoran: 39 - 4 = 1 Resistance / 34 Armor Resistance

Now, Fathoran stood beside them.

His sword described a deadly arc aimed at Lucien\'s neck. The Summoner managed to raise his own arms to block, the sword cut the armor a bit and the impact sent him staggering backward.

Lucien: 90 - 1 = 15 Resistance / 74 Armor Resistance.

Capitalizing on Lucien\'s imbalance, Fathoran spun, his foot connecting with Lucien\'s already injured side.

Lucien: 14 Resistance

As Lucien doubled over, Fathoran seized the opportunity to deliver a thrust to his neck. Lucien moved to defend, but Fathoran changed direction at the last moment, aiming for the heart.

Fathoran\'s sword pierced Lucien\'s broken armor with devastating precision.

Lucien: 85 - 6 crit = 8 Resistance / 73 Armor Resistance.

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.