SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

Damien rode the night like a phantom, high above the world atop Skylar's mighty back.

His Shadowfang Wyvern sliced through the clouds with effortless speed, the great beast's wings beating in perfect rhythm as it carried him across the vast expanse of land below.

The stars above twinkled faintly, half-hidden behind drifting clouds, while the land stretched endlessly beneath them—rolling plains, dark forests, winding rivers, and isolated villages, their lights glowing like scattered embers in the vast darkness of the continent.

From this height, the world seemed so small, so distant. And yet, Damien knew that with every passing moment, he was drawing closer to Velthorne—the fortress-city that housed the last remnants of Lord Raegon's forces as well as Lord Raegon himself.

A grim smile tugged at his lips.

Soon.

He would end this.

But even as Damien pressed forward, a strange unease settled into his gut.

It had started when he passed over a small village about an hour ago. He had felt… something. A subtle yet distinct shift in the atmosphere, like a ripple in still water.

It wasn't just his imagination.

It had been there—a disturbance.

At first, he had dismissed it, attributing the sensation to his exhaustion or the simple paranoia of being constantly hunted. But the feeling had lingered, nagging at the edges of his awareness.

Something or someone had noticed him.

Or perhaps, something or someone had been waiting for him. He didn't know which.

Damien clenched his fists, his gaze scanning the horizon. But from this height, there was nothing—only the vast, open land below, indifferent and unchanging.

Still, he could not shake the sensation.

He had being seen.

Velthorne finally came into view—a distant monolith of stone, its high walls towering over the surrounding landscape like a sleeping giant.

Even from miles away, Damien could see the looming battlements, the flickering torchlights of its watchtowers, and the faint outline of guards patrolling its perimeter.

"Down we go. Your journey ends here." Skylar rumbled beneath him, sensing the change in course as Damien commanded the wyvern to descend.

The great beast tilted its wings, angling downward, and soon they were diving toward the earth, the wind rushing against Damien's face as the darkened land below rose to meet them.

As they broke through the lower cloud layer, Damien immediately felt it.

The cold.

But this wasn't the natural chill of nightfall. No, this was something deeper, more unnatural—a biting, lingering frost that clung to the air like unseen fingers.

The grasslands below were coated in a thin, almost imperceptible layer of ice, despite the absence of winter. Trees stood stiff and unmoving, their branches brittle, as if frozen mid-motion.

Damien narrowed his eyes.

Magic.

Not just any magic—powerful magic.

Whoever had cast this wasn't some ordinary mage. This was deliberate, a warning, a mark. Someone wanted to make their presence known.

But who? And why?

His instincts screamed for caution, but Damien had never been one to turn away from danger.

He leapt from Skylar's back, landing lightly on the frost-covered ground as he reached for his blade.

The cold bit into his skin, seeping through the fabric of his cloak, but he ignored it.

He turned back to Skylar, reaching up to place a hand on the wyvern's snout. "That's enough for now. Rest."

"Cancel Skylar's summon." Damien commanded his system. With a low, rumbling growl, the great beast faded into nothingness, vanishing into the ether as Damien dismissed its summoning.

Damien reached into his coat, pulling out a small, engraved pendant—a magical artifact that detected lingering auras. Holding it up, he watched as the inscriptions glowed faintly, their light pulsing in response to the magic around him.

The cold wasn't natural.

And whoever or whatever had caused it wasn't that far.

He closed his fist around the pendant, his mind working quickly.

Velthorne was still at least two hours away on foot. He could summon Skylar again and fly the rest of the way, but something told him that traveling on land would be wiser.

So instead, he summoned Fenrir. "Summon Fenrir. I need him this time."

A swirl of blue energy coiled at his feet, expanding outward and twisting into a portal as the ground trembled slightly.

Then, with a low, predatory growl, the Monstrous Wolf emerged out of the blue portal that had formed close to Damien.

Fenrir's eyes glowed an eerie blue, its white fur shifting like mist in the moonlight. The beast towered over Damien, its muscles coiled with raw power, its massive paws already digging into the frost-covered earth.

Damien smirked, stepping forward to place a hand against Fenrir's side. "We move fast. Keep your senses sharp."

Fenrir didn't need to be told twice.

The moment Damien mounted the beast, they shot forward, racing through the frozen fields like a phantom in the night.

The land blurred past them in streaks of black and silver.

Fenrir's speed was unmatched, its powerful legs carrying them across the plains with inhuman swiftness. The once-distant walls of Velthorne grew larger in his vision, their dark stone gleaming ominously under the moonlight.

Damien's mind raced as they closed the distance.

Was someone or something expecting him?

The unnatural frost, the shift in the air, the sense of being watched—it all pointed to one thing:

Anither being that wasn't him or his summon.

And yet, he didn't slow down.

His enemies had no idea what was coming for them.

As they neared the outskirts of Velthorne, Damien gave Fenrir a final command.

"Stop."

The Monstrous Wolf slowed, its heavy paws pressing into the frozen earth as it came to a halt just a few hundred meters from the outer wall.

From here, Damien could see the guards patrolling the top of the fortress, their movements sharp and precise. The main gate was heavily reinforced, torches casting long shadows across its iron frame.

Damien exhaled. 'Now the counter attack begins.'

He reached into his cloak, pulling out a small vial filled with a thick, dark liquid—a concoction he had acquired for moments like these. A mixture of shadow essence and nightshade—designed to mask his presence entirely.

One sip, and he would become a ghost.

He tilted his head back and drank.

The moment the liquid touched his tongue, the shadows around him began to shift, wrapping around his body like a living cloak.

His form blurred, darkened, disappeared.

And then, like a whisper in the wind, Damien turned to vanish into the night.

Velthorne would not know he had arrived.

Not until it was too late.