Re-Awakened :I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner

The explosion temporarily blinded half the arena. The energy barriers didn't just crack—they shattered along the top edge, fragments raining down on the hastily evacuated front rows. Raw energy spilled into the upper levels, scorching seats and melting handrails.

"Holy shit!" Kelvin shouted, ducking instinctively though they were well outside the danger zone. "Are they trying to kill each other?!"

Sophie's eyes were wide. "They're just testing each other's limits."

"Those are third-years for you," Cora whispered, awe in her voice. "Different level entirely."

When the light faded and vision returned, both fighters stood on opposite sides of a blackened, smoking divot that split the arena floor. Neither looked particularly winded. Lucas rolled his shoulders. Zahir rotated his neck, joints cracking audibly.

"Not bad," Lucas said, genuine respect in his voice.

In response, Zahir sank into his own shadow and disappeared completely.

The crowd gasped. Lucas closed his eyes, extending his senses outward. Tiny electrical discharges danced across his skin, creating an electromagnetic field that reached throughout the arena.

'There,' he thought, detecting a disturbance behind him.

Zahir emerged from a shadow directly at Lucas's back, hands formed into black-energy claws aimed at his spine—

KRAKOOM!!!

Lucas spun, fist wreathed in concentrated lightning. It connected with Zahir's chest before he fully materialized.

The impact lifted Zahir off his feet and sent him flying across the arena, through one of the few remaining barrier walls, and into the first row of seats. Concrete, metal, and energy fragments exploded in all directions.

"Damn," Marco whispered from the competitor section. "Did you see how fast he reacted?"

Noah nodded, expression intense. "He sensed the electromagnetic disruption when Zahir traveled through his shadow."

For several seconds, there was no movement from the rubble. Then, impossibly, Zahir pushed himself up. His gear was torn, smoking in places from electrical burns. Blood ran from a gash above his eye. Yet he stood.

"How did you—"

"You disrupt the electromagnetic field when you travel through shadows," Lucas explained, casually brushing dust from his sleeve. "Like static on a radio."

Zahir's surprise faded into grim determination. "I see I've been underestimating you, Grey."

"Everyone does," Lucas replied with a shrug. "Gets boring, honestly."

Zahir stepped back into the arena, limping slightly. The temperature dropped sharply again, this time enough to create visible breath clouds from nearby spectators. The shadow energy around him intensified, no longer just wisps but a churning maelstrom.

"Let me make things more interesting then." Zahir raised his arms, shadow energy coalescing around him. Abyss Manifestation: Wraith Armor.

The shadows solidified, forming a semi-transparent exoskeleton that hovered just above his skin. Two additional arms of pure shadow energy extended from his shoulders, each ending in wickedly curved claws.

In the stands, Cora gasped. "That's a third-year technique—autonomous energy constructs for energy based abilities. They teach that in Advanced Combat Applications."

Lucas's grin widened. "Now we're talking."

Lightning now roared across his body in continuous waves rather than arcs. The air around him warped from the heat and electromagnetic distortion, creating a mirage effect that made his outline blur.

Zahir charged—faster than before, all four arms swinging in complex patterns designed to overwhelm Lucas's defenses. Lucas blocked, ducked, and countered, each impact creating miniature explosions of competing energy.

BOOM! CRACK! KRAKOOM!

The exchanges happened so fast that most spectators couldn't follow them with the naked eye. The arena's massive screens showed slowed-down footage: Zahir's shadow arms stretching, bending at impossible angles; Lucas weaving through attacks with millimeter precision, countering with lightning-enhanced strikes.

Lucas caught one of the shadow arms, electricity surging down its length toward Zahir's body. The shadow user hissed in pain but didn't retreat. Instead, he used Lucas's grip against him, pulling him forward into the path of his other three arms.

Lucas twisted his body in a way that seemed to defy physics, contorting to avoid two strikes while blocking the third with his forearm. The impact sent him sliding backward, his boots leaving molten grooves in the arena floor.

'He's good,' Lucas admitted to himself. Not many could hang this long with him. It was no matter of pride. He simply was that good of a fighter.

'But not good enough.' he grinned.

The air around Lucas changed. The sporadic crackling of electricity transformed into a continuous, rising hum that made teeth vibrate and screens flicker. His body seemed to vibrate in place, afterimages forming and dissipating around him.

"I win," he stated simply.

Then, he was everywhere.

Not just fast—impossible. Physics-breaking speed. Five simultaneous strikes from five different angles in the span of a heartbeat.

Zahir couldn't phase in time. Every blow detonated against his shadow armor, sending cracks spider-webbing through the ethereal protection. He tried to counter, to track Lucas's movements, but the Lightning Flash was already gone before his attacks could connect.

"Is this—" Zahir began.

CRACK!

A lightning-infused uppercut caught him under the chin, launching him skyward. His shadow armor fractured further, pieces of it dissolving into wisps of dark energy. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine mist.

Lucas didn't let him fall. He was already there, above Zahir, hands clasped together.

Thunderclap Hammer!

The overhead strike connected with Zahir's chest. The impact created a sonic boom that shook the remaining barriers. Zahir's body plummeted downward like a meteor, crashing into the arena floor with enough force to send shockwaves rippling outward.

BOOOOOM!

Concrete fragments flew in all directions. A dust cloud billowed upward, obscuring the impact zone. The entire arena fell silent, waiting.

Incredibly, movement stirred within the crater. A hand emerged, then an arm, then Zahir's full form rose from the rubble. His shadow armor was gone. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose. One arm hung limply at his side, clearly broken. But he stood.

"Is that... all?" he managed through gritted teeth.

In the VIP section, Commander Owen's eyes widened slightly. "Impressive resilience," he murmured.

In the stands, Sophie leaned forward, mouth open. "He's still conscious after that?"

"I don't believe it," Cora whispered, hand over her mouth.

Kelvin just stared, foam finger forgotten in his lap. "Lucas hasn't even used his soul form yet."

Down in the arena, Lucas landed gracefully across from Zahir. There was newfound respect in his eyes.

"You can still stand. Impressive."

Zahir's remaining functional hand clenched into a fist. The shadows around him began to churn again, but sluggishly, weakly. "I'm not... done yet."

Lucas sighed, almost regretfully. "Yeah, you are."

Lightning gathered around Lucas's right arm, concentrating until the air itself began to split from the electrical pressure. The energy shaped itself into a blade of pure electrical energy, extending from his fist to about three feet beyond it—crackling, humming, casting harsh blue-white light across the devastated arena.

Lightning Blade: Final Flash.

One moment, Lucas stood ten feet from Zahir. The next—

A blinding flash of light.

A line of blue energy that bisected the arena floor, leaving a glowing, molten trench.

Lucas stood behind Zahir, arm extended in the follow-through position of his strike. For two heartbeats, neither moved.

Then Zahir collapsed to his knees, the shadow energy around him dissipating completely into wisps of dark smoke. His body swayed, then fell forward, catching himself with his one working arm.

The arena fell silent—then erupted in deafening cheers as the holographic referee materialized to officially call the match.

"WINNER: LUCAS Grey OF ACADEMY 12!"

In the first-year section, Adrian whistled low. "That's what we're supposed to become in two years?"

Marco shook his head slowly, swallowing hard. "That's what Lucas became. The bar's even higher for the rest of us. And the crazy part is any of that move done by a year one and they'd call off the whole match. Just goes to prove the system is well aware of the power gap between us,"

Lila said nothing, her eyes still fixed on the aftermath of Lucas's final attack—a perfectly straight line cut through the arena floor, still glowing with residual heat.

Noah uncrossed his arms, a small smile forming. "That's why he's number one."

On the arena floor, Lucas walked over to Zahir, who was still on his knees, struggling to stay conscious. He extended his hand.

"Good fight," Lucas said, genuine respect in his voice.

Zahir looked up, surprise evident on his blood-streaked face. After a moment's hesitation, he accepted the hand, allowing Lucas to help him to his feet.

"You never used your soul form," Zahir noted, wincing as medical drones hovered onto the field.

Lucas shrugged. "Didn't need to. Maybe next time," he noticed Zahir bent his head in Shame as hundreds of fellow student all from around the eastern sector watched on.

"Hey...hey...hey man. Hold your head up. You did really good. Be proud of what you've achieved out here today," Lucas said to him.

"What?" Zahir asked in confusion and who could blame him? He'd just lost and here Lucas was telling him to be proud?!

"You've done something not many of these people watching have the balls to. There's a reason you are representing your school and not them," Lucas said.

Zahir nodded, seeing sense in what Lucas had said. "Next time then. Well, not in a tournament since this is our last. But maybe some day, round 2?" Zahir said with a weak smile.

"Sure. I'm certain you'll find me when that time comes," Lucas grinned. "Get stronger. And remember while at it, the war isn't amongst ourselves. You get stronger so we can kick ass, together!" He said patting Zahir's shoulders.

As he walked toward the exit, the crowd's chanting washed over him:

"LU-CAS! LU-CAS! LU-CAS!"

As the medical teams rushed to attend to Zahir, transporting him from the devastated arena on a hovering stretcher surrounded by healing drones, the faculty section in the VIP area remained unusually quiet.

Miss Brooks, the homeroom teacher for 1B, leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. Her usually stern expression had softened into something resembling awe.

"Well," she finally said, breaking the silence. "I think that settles any questions the first-years might have had about the third-year capabilities."

Mr Rourke of 1C nodded slowly, rubbing his head as his eyes followed Lucas's retreating form. "Grey didn't even use his soul form. That was just raw technique and power control."

"A masterclass," agreed Vain, the normally competitive instructor for 1A. He didn't even attempt to argue that his students could've performed better—a rarity that spoke volumes about what they'd just witnessed.

The three teachers exchanged glances. For once, there was no debate about which of their classes held superior students, no subtle jabs about teaching methods or talent development. Academy 12's hierarchical rivalries seemed petty in the face of such a display.

"First gens are good," Brooks said, almost to herself. "Second gens ... perfect."

"Third gens?" Rourke continued her thought, "They're absolutely terrific if they master their powers right."

Vain completed the sentiment with unusual gravity in his voice. "But the alpha class? The S, SS, and SSS class? They're monsters."

None of them disagreed. None of them needed to. The evidence lay in the shattered arena below, a molten line cut through reinforced concrete as effortlessly as drawing a finger through sand.

The teachers watched as Lucas disappeared into the tunnel, shoulders relaxed as if he'd done nothing more strenuous than a light workout. The implications hung unspoken between them—if this was what their academy was producing, perhaps there was hope against the threats that loomed beyond their borders after all.

But they weren't the only ones that had such sentiment.

Commander Owen watched his prized student with unconcealed pride. Given what humanity faced beyond their borders—the Harbinger threat growing stronger each day, he thought to himself.

'We need more of you,' his eyes following Lucas as he entered the tunnel.