The air crackled with palpable energy as Elio, encased in the gleaming System's Armor, watched the shattered entrance of the family building.
More than 10,000 summoners surrounded him, their fire salamanders glowing with anticipation on their shoulders, casting an eerie, flickering light across the plaza.
The initial attack had been swift and devastating, but now an unsettling silence hung over them, thick with tension and unspoken fears.
Elio took a step forward, his body coiled like a compressed spring, every muscle taut with readiness. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, threatening to crush his resolve.
"We have to go in," he declared, his voice laden with a hint of suppressed anxiety. "Fathoran is in there, and every second we wait gives him ti to regroup and fortify his position."
Lucien frowned, placing a restraining hand on Elio's shoulder. The older man's touch was firm but gentle, a proof of the bond they had forged through adversity.
"Wait, Elio," he cautioned, his eyes scanning the darkened entrance. "We don't know what awaits us inside. It could be a trap, carefully laid out to ensnare us."
"A trap?" Elio whirled around. The fear of losing this opportunity, of failing the city when they were so close to victory, gnawed at him. "I have more power than anyone here. The System's Armor protects . I can face whatever Fathoran has prepared, no matter how devious or dangerous."
Selene stepped in, her voice firm but tinged with understanding. Her eyes, usually hard as flint, now held a glimr of concern. "Elio, we understand your urgency, we feel it too. But we can't risk losing you. You're too important to this city now, to all of us."
Elio clenched his fists.
Frustration bubbled up inside him, threatening to overflow. "And what do you suggest?" he challenged, his voice rising. "That we just stand here, paralyzed by indecision?"
Lucien and Selene exchanged a quick, aningful glance before Lucien spoke, his tone asured and diplomatic. "Let's send in a reconnaissance squad. A hundred of our new summoners. They can scout the terrain, assess the threats, and report back what they find."
For a mont, Elio looked ready to protest, his body tensed as if to spring into action. But then, slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. The weight of leadership settled on his shoulders, forcing him to consider more than just his own burning desire for action.
"Fine," he conceded, "but if anything goes wrong, if there's even a hint of trouble, I'm going in. No more waiting."
Selene nodded, a flicker of relief passing over her features. She turned to the sea of soldiers, her gaze sharp and assessing.
With a series of quick, precise gestures, she selected a hundred summoners, all veterans of level 3.
"You," she commanded, her voice carrying across the plaza. "Move forward. Enter the building, stay together, and report anything and everything you see. If any of you are injured, retreat imdiately. Your lives are not expendable."
The selected soldiers advanced... As they approached the mangled entrance, Elio felt a pang of guilt twist in his gut.
These n and won had only just received their invocations, and already they were being sent into the maw of danger.
"Be careful," he called out. "Your lives matter. Don't take unnecessary risks."
The squad disappeared into the building.
As they waited, the tension in the air grew thicker, almost suffocating.
♢♢♢♢
Tarec advanced at the forefront of the 100-soldier squad, his heart filled with vengeance and fear. The weight of leadership pressed down on him, a responsibility he had never asked for but now embraced with grim determination.
The salamander on his shoulder fidgeted restlessly.
It was as if the creature could sense the danger that lay ahead, its agitation a reflection of Tarec's own tumultuous emotions. They had entered the family building, resolved to confront Fathoran and end his reign of tyranny.
The vast entrance hall stretched before them, eerily deserted.
Its white stone walls reflected the dancing light of the salamanders, casting grotesque shadows that seed to move with a life of their own.
The oppressive silence weighed heavily on the squad, broken only by the soft crunch of their boots on the polished floor and the occasional nervous breath.
"Stay alert," Tarec whispered to his companions. "Fathoran could be anywhere."
They advanced cautiously towards the first great hallway, every sense straining for the slightest hint of danger.
Suddenly, Tarec froze, throwing up a hand to halt the others.
His heart leapt into his throat as he saw what lay before them. Blocking the hallway was a line of ten soldiers, their armor of the highest level gleaming dully in the low light. Behind them, Tarec could make out more rows of soldiers, their armored forms stretching back into the distance.
"By the System," one of the summoners gasped, his voice quavering. "There must be at least five hundred of them!"
Tarec gritted his teeth, this was no ti for fear.
"It doesn't matter how many there are," he growled, infusing his voice with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. "We have the power of the salamanders on our side. Rember why we're here, what we're fighting for. Attack!"
As if his words had broken a spell, the 100 summoners launched a devastating barrage of fireballs towards the first line of enemy soldiers.
The hallway erupted in a blinding conflagration, the heat so intense that the air itself seed to vibrate. Both summoners and defending soldiers were forced to cover their mouths and generate their own oxygen to avoid passing out from the sudden lack of air.
Tarec watched in a mixture of awe and horror as the fireballs impacted against the armor of Fathoran's soldiers. Each hit left a scorched mark, yet the soldiers remained standing, barely affected by the onslaught.
"Impossible!" one of the summoners cried out, his voice cracking with disbelief. "They should have fallen already!"
The highest level armor grants a formidable resistance of 100 points, a strong defense against their 8 damage points fire attacks.
Fathoran's soldiers, taking advantage of the summoners' montary confusion, began to move with an almost chanical precision. Those who had received direct hits stepped back, imdiately replaced by others with untouched armors.
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