SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

[Kill Count: 1,759 / 5,000]

[Combined Summon Kills: 622]

The ground was no longer just soaked with blood—it had absorbed it. The soil squelched under Damien’s boots with every step, thick with essence-drained organs. He didn’t notice. Not anymore.

He was still moving.

Three demons broke through the front—a mutated wolf-thing with wings for forelimbs, a tall humanoid with a cracked obsidian mask, and one that simply looked like a sphere of teeth and sinew.

He didn’t dodge.

He let them close.

And then…

Crack!

His staff spun in his hands with a single, blur-fast motion.

The winged one lost its skull.

The masked one caught the staff full-force in the gut, sending it flying backward into Skylar’s waiting maw.

The spherical one opened its mouth to scream—

Chomp!

Luton simply devoured it whole with a lazy jump.

[Kill Count: 1,761 / 5,000]

Behind Damien, the scene had changed. What was once the trembling rearguard of mercenaries and Dunters trying not to die had become a frontline of their own.

They’d moved up.

Held ground.

And now? They were advancing.

A group of Dunters—four of them in matching etched leather armor—moved as one. Their weapons were customized blades with serrated crescent edges, designed to tear into tougher demon hide.

The one in front—tall, dark skin, rune-scorched gauntlet—spun his blade as he led the charge. “Pull left! Flank the clustered variants!”

Two answered with arcing wind magic circles, launching demon crawlers into the air.

The fourth activated a burst trap beneath a pouncing brute’s feet—sending it skyward—and then Damien, a blur of motion, leapt up to meet it mid-air and slammed it into the ground with a staff strike like thunder.

[Kill Count: 1,774 / 5,000]

Casters were weaving large-scale barriers now—magenta and gold structure of magic essence across the west bank. These shielded the wounded and allowed healers to finally work.

But not everyone made it.

One Mercenary, dual-wielding broadswords, was overwhelmed by swarmers—he fell screaming beneath five of them. His partner screamed and dropped a lightning magic circle that incinerated them all.

Only the ash was left of either.

The line didn’t break.

Cerbe let out a feral howl that vibrated through the ground. A second later, all three heads lunged forward at once and ripped through a cluster of low-class demons.

Skylar shrieked above, letting loose a fresh barrage of blackfire that swept the high flank.

Even Luton—gentle, chirpy Luton—was beginning to darken in hue.

Each demon it consumed made it pulse with low red light, almost like a warning.

Damien noticed it—but didn’t comment. It couldn’t possibly be bad after all.

They were only five.

And there were still thousands.

He flipped his staff over his shoulder, turned on his heel, and slammed it through the sternum of a leaping predator.

Its spine shattered with a sound like breaking glass.

[Kill Count: 1,789 / 5,000]

Still the System said nothing.

No rewards.

No grace.

Just that rising number in his peripheral vision.

He wiped a line of blood from his jaw and muttered, “Fine. I’ll just keep killing till something pops up.”

~~~~~

Arielle moved like a ghost through fire.

She wasn’t sprinting anymore. No wild motions. Just precision.

Cut, dodge, thrust, cut again.

Now that the eastern battalion had reinforced the ridge, she was no longer alone—and for the first time in what felt like hours, she could breathe.

The ground had been retaken.

Sort of.

Commanders barked calls. Arrows lit with green flame arced through the sky. Healers rotated in timed intervals. Barrier engineers scrawled glyphs on rooftops to support ground-level spellcasters.

The entire force worked like a machine.

A desperate, bloodied, but functioning machine.

Arielle ducked under a spear arm, jammed her dagger into a demon’s throat, and looked up as Aquila swooped past—wing extended in a warning flare.

“Left flank!”

Three demons broke formation and sprinted through a gap in the barrier.

Arielle leapt.

She intercepted the lead one with a leaping slash, knocking it off its feet, then twisted and kicked another back into the waiting maw of a summoned creature that looked like a basilisk.

Its second head devoured it whole.

Arielle exhaled sharply.

All around her, spellwork glowed.

Mass combat spells thundered across the field. Some ran wide. Others nailed clusters. The ground trembled under the weight of magic, iron, and blood.

But the line held.

And she had one precious minute to scan the horizon.

Where was Damien?

Not that she doubted him.

But it bothered her.

That he was out there. Alone. Or maybe not.

Fighting the same war.

“Arielle!”

She turned.

One of the east command mages jogged toward her, panting, cloak scorched on the edge.

“Commander says push five meters up. We’ve got an opening—we can collapse their left charge.”

“Go,” she nodded. “I’ll follow in two.”

He ran off.

Aquila landed beside her a moment later, blood-soaked claws digging into the grass.

“You’re limping.”

“So are you.”

A shared look.

Wry. Weary. But not broken.

Then the wind changed.

It was subtle.

Like a breath drawn too sharply.

A scent beneath the scent of blood.

Something old.

Rotten.

Heavy.

The air dropped a degree.

Then another.

Magic seemed to pulse wrong—like a spell that fizzled out before casting.

Even the demons started hesitating.

Some growled. Others looked toward the far edge of the ridge, just beyond the treeline where the first wave had come from.

Something stirred there.

Something the demons seemed to fear.

Arielle gripped her blade tighter.

She could see it in their stances—in the way the corrupted beasts shifted their weight, like prey sensing a greater predator.

The trees… didn’t sway.

They looked like they were shrinking.

Even the light dimmed.

Mages muttered.

One sat down mid-cast, blinking rapidly. “Something just—blocked my channel. I didn’t even stop it.”

A new wave of black fog curled across the grass.

Not fast.

Not loud.

Just… thick.

Unnatural.

Wrong.

Aquila backed up two steps, feathers on end, her head lowering as a low growl built in her throat.

Arielle turned toward the field.

The front line had stopped fighting.

Both sides now paused—confused, tense.

And at the very edge of vision—just for a breath—a shape moved.

Not walked, not ran. Just shifted.

Too large.

Too dark.

Too silent.

Arielle’s heart pounded once.

Then the battlefield shivered.

And then, everything went still.

A new participant had arrived.

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