Utopian System
Chapter 87: Chapter 87: System's Inferno

Fathoran strode through the city streets, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the pavement. The other Summoners trailed behind: Kairos, Estin, Lotar, Varen, Raelar and Mordred, anticipation etched on their faces.

"As I was saying," Fathoran began, his voice soft and casual, "eliminating Elio's family alone won't suffice. We must be... broader in our approach."

Raelar, a few steps behind, felt a chill run down his spine. "What exactly do you mean, Patriarch?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Fathoran halted, turning to face his followers. His eyes glinted with cold calculation. "Years ago, when I was young and the System had just been created, God told me a story. He warned me about something called 'martyrs'."

The other Summoners hung on every word.

"If we only eliminate Elio's family, or random families in different sectors," Fathoran continued, his tone almost conversational, "we risk creating symbols of noble sacrifice. No, we must be more... inclusive. We'll eliminate their neighbors as well. When we explain the need to reduce numbers, there will be a more... Direct understanding."

Kairos nodded enthusiastically, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Brilliant, Patriarch. No one will dare oppose you."

Raelar felt his stomach churn. The stark difference in education between the two family branches was painfully evident. His grandmother, now gone, had taught Lucien, Selene, and himself differently… His brother Varen had strayed, but Kairos and Mordred were terrible products of their family branch's mentality.

As they advanced, the few pedestrians quickly parted, fear evident in their hurried steps and averted gazes.

Suddenly, a middle-aged man approached, his face lighting up with recognition. "What an honor!" he exclaimed, bowing awkwardly. "What brings such illustrious summoners to our humble section?"

Fathoran stopped, regarding the man with an unreadable expression. His ice-cold eyes scanned the man from head to toe. "Tell me, good man, do you live around here?"

The man nodded eagerly, oblivious to the danger. "Yes, my lord. Almost my whole life. I left the army 17 years ago. I'm enjoying my last 5 years of life with my family."

"Excellent," Fathoran said, his voice pleasant and joyful. "Do you happen to know the family of someone called Elio?"

"Of course!" the man replied, his face brightening further. "They're my neighbors. Good people. Would you like me to guide you? It's close by."

"Please," Fathoran responded with a smile.

The man led them proudly, chattering animatedly about the neighborhood. Raelar watched the scene unfold with growing horror, knowing what was to come but powerless to prevent it.

When they reached a modest but well-kept house, the man stopped. "It's here," he said, pointing to the door. "Elio's family lives here. May I ask why...?"

Fathoran raised a hand, silencing the man. "Thank you," he said, his voice dripping with false kindness. "You've been useful at least once before your expiration date."

Before the man could react, Fathoran extended his hand. A fireball, bright and deadly, erupted from his palm, engulfing the man in flames. His agonized screams lasted only a second before he collapsed, reduced to ashes.

The other Summoners, except Raelar, observed the scene with a mix of awe and reverence. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air, making Raelar fight against waves of nausea.

"Patriarch," Raelar said, unable to contain his horror, "why use fire? It will deplete the city's oxygen. You know how scarce it is..."

Fathoran turned to him, his eyes glowing with dangerous intent. A smile played on his lips. "Precisely, my dear grandson. It's the best way to flush out the vermin from their hiding places. When the air becomes scarcer, the weak will reveal themselves."

Raelar felt his blood run cold. How many more lives did Fathoran plan to sacrifice today?

Varen stepped forward, approaching Elio's house. He knocked three times, each strike more forceful than the last. The sound echoed in the now-silent street, a harbinger of the impending tragedy.

No response came.

"No one's answering, Patriarch," Varen reported, turning back to Fathoran.

The Patriarch made a dismissive gesture. "Break down the door. We have no time for courtesies."

Estin stepped forward, eager to please the one who could provide him with the potion, his aging muscles tensing in anticipation. But Kairos stopped him with a gesture.

"Allow me, uncle," Kairos said, a cruel smile forming on his lips. With a snap of his fingers, his salamander appeared, its eyes glowing. "Fire, isn't it?"

Fathoran nodded approvingly, a flash of pride in his eyes. "Proceed."

Kairos's salamander opened its jaws, and a fireball smaller than Fathoran's emerged, hurtling directly towards Elio's front door. The fiery projectile illuminated the street, casting dancing shadows on the walls of neighboring houses.

Raelar watched the scene in horror, knowing he was about to witness a massacre and feeling utterly powerless to stop it. At that moment, he wished he had Lucien's courage to openly oppose, even if it meant facing Fathoran's wrath.

The fireball impacted the door with a deafening roar, engulfing it in flames. The heat was so intense that Raelar could feel it even from where he stood, as if facing an open furnace. The wood crackled and splintered, quickly yielding to the relentless assault of the fire.

Smoke began to rise, forming a black column that would surely be visible from much of the city. The smell of burning wood mixed with that of carbonized flesh, creating a nauseating stench that made Raelar struggle to keep the contents of his stomach in check.

"Excellent, Kairos," Fathoran said, his voice laden with macabre satisfaction. "Now, let's see how our dear subjects react when they realize that no one is safe from the System's justice."

Lotar, Varen and Mordred exchanged glances, a spark of doubt in their eyes quickly suppressed. Estin, for his part, seemed eager to join the destruction, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation.

"Estin, you may unleash your resentment here. The rest must begin working, 20 people each, that will be your daily quota, it's fine to do more," Fathoran commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

The terrified screams of neighbors began to be heard, mingling with the crackling of flames. Raelar watched as some people emerged from their houses, only to recoil in horror at the scene unfolding before them.

As the flames consumed the door, Raelar felt a part of himself burning away too. The city he had sworn to protect was descending into madness, and he was powerless to stop it. The weight of his complicity pressed down on him, heavier than any burden he had ever borne.

"Remember this day," Fathoran said, his voice rising above the chaos. "This is the day we reaffirm our control over the city. This is the day we show that there is no place for rebellion or disobedience."