Awakening with two legendary Summons
Chapter 124: Final act of Sacrifice

Chapter 124: Final act of Sacrifice

[mass release tomorrow]

Fex lunged forward, his boots skidding across the debris-littered floor, toward the dome beneath the harsh, flickering seating lights. They blinked in and out like dying stars, casting shadows that danced across his determined face. When he reached close enough—barely an inch away—he flung both hands forward, stopping just short of touching the dome’s burning surface.

He took a deep breath, one that echoed inside his chest like a war drum, and with all his might, he began to pull apart the molecular structure of the dome. It was no easy task. The dome was thick, reinforced by some kind of alien energy, and blazing hot—so hot it singed the very air around it. Even with Fex’s innate ability to nullify energy, it resisted his influence, pushing back with a violent hum.

Fex gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face. His arms trembled as he forced himself to accelerate the process, but the tearing was painfully slow.

Then something twisted in the air.

Without warning, a single tendril sprang out—an unholy burst of lightning that shot forth from the dome. It erupted from the side, seemingly from nowhere, and moved with a speed that defied comprehension. One moment it wasn’t there, and the next it was slicing through the atmosphere, screaming toward him.

Fex caught a glimpse of it—just a flash of azure crackling light—and in that split second, his entire life flashed before his eyes.

The tendril of lightning came so close—barely a foot from his eye. The glow of it reflected in the wide, terrified pupil of Fex, a mirror of death bearing down on him.

And then—

Lloyd moved.

Like a shadow struck by divine wind, Lloyd’s figure blurred. He had seen the attack and without hesitation, swung his sword in a sweeping arc. The blade, glowing faintly with his last reserves of energy, sliced clean through the tendril just before it could impale Fex.

Sparks and dying embers filled the air, dancing like fireflies caught in a storm.

The lights above surged violently, blinding for a moment—but Fex did not blink.

He dared not blink.

He kept his eyes locked on the dome, ignoring the cold hands of fear creeping along his spine, threatening to pull him into despair. This... this was one of the most dangerous things he had ever attempted in his entire life.

And it wasn’t over.

Again and again, the tendrils sprang out, slicing toward Fex with ungodly speed. But each time, Lloyd and Silver were there, intercepting the attacks in tandem. Their joint effort was fluid, efficient—each strike of Lloyd’s blade met with Silver’s swift aerial counters. Together, they danced around the lightning with warrior grace.

With every successful block, Fex’s confidence grew.

He focused again—channeling every drop of strength into unraveling the dome. Slowly, painstakingly, a hole began to form. At first, it was the size of an ant—just a shimmer—but then it grew, expanding to a size wide enough for a human fist to slip through.

It was working.

If they could make it wider, just a little more—they could breach the dome, confront Goldrics before he could fully recover, and turn the tide.

But their strength was fading.

Lloyd had been parrying countless tendrils, dodging, weaving, and shielding both himself and Fex. His arms felt like they were made of stone—sore, stiff, aching with every swing. His grip trembled on the hilt of his sword.

He feared he wouldn’t last much longer.

And then it happened.

Three tendrils exploded out of the dome all at once, wild and fast—two aimed at Lloyd, one for Fex.

Lloyd could have handled it—he was sure of it.

He pounced forward, his body flickering with Echo Walk, and struck down the first tendril with surgical precision. But as his foot landed, the exhaustion caught up to him. His balance faltered. His knee buckled.

He dropped.

The second tendril grazed his cheek, searing a burn across it—skin peeling from the heat—but that wasn’t what made his eyes widen in horror.

It was the third.

The one he failed to intercept.

The one heading straight for Fex.

Lloyd’s mouth opened to scream, a desperate, hoarse warning—but it was already too late.

Fex, too focused—too relieved at having created a hole large enough for a human head to pass through—had grown complacent. He didn’t see the attack coming.

The tendril curved at the last second, slashing across Fex’s gut. A shriek of pain tore from his throat as his body was flung violently backward, blood trailing in the air like ribbons of red silk. He crashed into the ground several feet away—unmoving.

"Fex!!"

Lloyd’s cry cracked the air, raw and broken.

He gritted his teeth as Silver gasped, her breath catching in her throat. She too had run dry, her wings slower, her flight jittery. She couldn’t make it in time to stop the blow, and now she darted downward in a panic to heal him.

But Lloyd had other worries.

The tendril that had struck Fex wasn’t the only one. Several more had curved around—now angling back, this time for Lloyd.

Yet even that wasn’t the true danger.

The hole in the dome—the one Fex had worked so hard to create—was beginning to close.

Slowly, the edges were sealing, reforming with a hiss and a pulse of light. The molecular stitch was being repaired.

If it closed... all their sacrifices, their pain, their struggle... would mean nothing. A suicide mission lost to the wind.

"No..."

He mustered the last dregs of energy from his depleted core, forcing his body to rise—but his legs wouldn’t obey. They remained motionless, too numb to respond. His breathing turned ragged.

The tendrils were closing in fast.

’If this is it for me—!’

Lloyd’s arm snapped up. With every ounce of strength left in him, he gripped the hilt of his sword, muscles screaming in resistance. Then he hurled it.

He threw the blade with everything he had, all his desperation, all his hope.

It soared through the air, whistling toward the closing hole in the dome.

Lloyd collapsed, his body splayed against the cracked floor, watching the sword fly.

The tendrils struck down toward him.

’Am I really going to die here...? At least...’

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

His thoughts turned only to his students—their faces flashing in his mind like cherished memories. He thought of how far they had come. Of Kairos... his finest prodigy, the one who’d mastered the feral arts like no other.

As the tendrils descended, he closed his eyes—not with fear, but with acceptance.

And still, in his final thoughts, he watched the sword.

Flying. Unstoppable.

A final act of hope.

A final sacrifice.