SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

With one powerful dive, the wyvern swooped down, claws extended.

A group of mercenaries screamed, trying to flee but they weren’t fast enough.

Skylar’s claws tore through them, lifting multiple bodies into the air before releasing them from high above.

“Ahhhhh!!”

“Nooooooooo!!”

Their cries of terror ended with sickening cracks as they hit the ground, their bodies mangled beyond recognition.

The survivors ran.

They no longer fought to win.

They fought to escape.

Damien watched the chaos unfold with an unreadable expression, his silver eyes reflecting the carnage. He remained still as Skylar continued its assault, unleashing torrents of dark energy, burning soldiers alive in black flames.

It didn’t take long.

Within minutes, Lord Raegon’s forces crumbled entirely.

The mercenaries who remained threw down their weapons, their spirits utterly broken.

And then, at the heart of it all Damien turned his gaze toward Lord Raegon himself.

The warlord was breathing heavily, his face drenched in sweat.

He had spent years leading armies, carving his name into history as an unshakable conqueror.

But now, he stood frozen in terror, watching his men die like insects.

His eyes locked onto Damien, realization dawning on him.

This wasn’t just another battle.

This was an execution.

Raegon’s breath hitched, his hands trembling against his sword.

He had made a mistake.

A grave mistake.

And now—he would pay the price.

Damien’s lips curled into a faint, merciless smile.

“Let’s end this.”

Damien stood still amidst the battlefield, his arms crossed as he observed the chaos unfolding before him. His summons fought without restraint, a perfect balance of destruction and precision.

Fenrir, in his humanoid form, moved like a seasoned warrior, wielding his sword with lethal grace.

Each swing carved through multiple foes at once, severing limbs, tearing through armor, and sending mercenaries screaming to their deaths. His sword was an extension of himself, cutting with the fluidity of a dancer but the brutality of a predator.

Beside him, Cerbe—his body wreathed in flames—laughed as he fought.

“Hahaha… burn you fools!” The Hell Hound thrived in battle, unleashing waves of searing heat with every punch and kick.

Fwoooom…

Enemies caught in his flames screamed in agony, their armor melting onto their bodies as they writhed on the ground. He took his time with some, watching as their burning flesh slowly crumbled to ash.

Others he struck down instantly, his blazing fists punching straight through their chests, leaving molten holes where their hearts once beat.

Luton, the most terrifying of them all, didn’t even lift a weapon. She moved with unnatural grace, her presence almost ghostly.

Instead of fighting like the others, she simply touched her enemies, and they vanished. No one saw what happened to them—no blood, no corpse, nothing. They were just… gone. Devoured whole.

And then, there was Skylar, the massive wyvern, tearing through Raegon’s forces with its powerful wings and razor-sharp claws. It wasn’t as strong as the others, but its sheer size and force alone made up for it.

It swooped down, snatching up soldiers in its talons, only to drop them from hundreds of feet in the air. Those unfortunate enough to face its fangs were bitten clean in half with one snap of its jaws.

The battlefield had transformed into a bloodbath, a one-sided massacre with Damien’s summons at the heart of it.

He had to admit—he didn’t even need to fight.

Lord Raegon’s face twisted in horror as he watched his army crumble. His confidence had been absolute before—he had brought his full force, fully expecting an easy conquest.

Westmont was supposed to fall under his might, crushed beneath his numbers.

But now?

Seventy percent of his army was dead.

And it wasn’t because of Lord Ellian’s forces at the front. No, they were holding the line, but they weren’t the ones responsible for the massacre.

The true carnage came from behind, where Damien and his summons had annihilated thousands single-handedly.

Raegon’s hands trembled. He had faced powerful warriors before, but this… this was something beyond his comprehension.

And then he saw it.

A dragon.

His mind went blank.

The wyvern, Skylar, descended onto the battlefield, its massive wings casting a shadow over the blood-soaked ground.

Raegon had never seen a dragon before, but that didn’t matter. To him, this was one. And if Westmont had a dragon, then there was no hope.

His breath came in short gasps. His vision blurred.

“R-Retreat!” he shouted desperately.

But where could they run?

Lord Ellian’s forces were still pressing from the front. Damien’s monsters were killing everything behind them.

They were surrounded.

“Scatter!”

Desperation took hold, and his mercenaries scattered—fleeing in whatever direction they could.

Some threw down their weapons, hoping for mercy. Others tried to push through the chaos, praying they wouldn’t be noticed.

Raegon spun his horse around and bolted.

Damien watched as Raegon broke into a full gallop, fleeing the battlefield.

A smirk crept onto his lips.

“Running already?” he muttered.

A Westmont mercenary shouted, pointing at the escaping warlord.

“Lord Raegon is escaping!”

Damien’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Fenrir.

“Get him.”

Without hesitation, Fenrir roared, his humanoid form dissolving into a blur of shadow and fur.

His body expanded, muscles bulging, fur sprouting from his skin as he shifted back into his original form—a massive, snow white wolf.

The moment his transformation was complete, he lunged forward.

And the hunt began.

Raegon’s horse raced through the battlefield, kicking up dirt as it sped toward the distant hills. His heart pounded in his chest.

He needed to get away.

If he could just reach his camp, regroup his remaining forces, and—

A low growl sent a chill down his spine.

His head snapped around.

There.

A white blur was racing toward him.

A wolf.

But not just any wolf.

This was the beast that had torn through his men like paper.

Fenrir.

And it was getting closer.

“Faster!” Raegon whipped his horse, urging it to go faster than it ever had before.

But it was useless.

Fenrir was too fast.

The gap closed instantly—

And then Raegon’s horse screamed.

Fenrir pounced, sinking his fangs into the horse’s hind leg.

With a single twist of his jaws, he ripped the leg clean off.

Raegon was thrown forward, hitting the ground hard, rolling across the dirt in a mess of armor and torn fabric. His head spun from the impact, but he forced himself to stand up, reaching for his sword—

Only to freeze.

Fenrir stood before him, his hulking form blocking out the sun.

His eyes gleamed, filled with unrelenting hunger.

Raegon staggered backward, gripping his sword with shaking hands.

“Stay back!” he snarled, trying to sound threatening, but his voice betrayed his terror.

Fenrir took one step forward.

Raegon flinched.

The beast snarled, his fangs dripping with blood.

“Damien said to bring you back alive,” Fenrir growled, his voice deep and menacing as it transformed into a human ince again. “But he didn’t say you had to be unharmed.”

Even as a human, its claws remained. Fenrir seemed to have a need for it. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. Yet.”

Raegon’s blood ran cold.

The last thing he saw was Fenrir’s claws flashing toward him—

Before everything went black.

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