SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts - Chapter 359 - 359: Making Sure It's All Over
Damien observed the system panel being displayed before his sight only that held his Kill Count.
[Kill Count: 3,588 / 5,000]
He has 1,422 more kills to acquire and soon, he’d have the chance to summon a sixth magical beast and since his system only allowed him to summon mythical beasts, he was already anticipating his next summon.
“Cooldown on the new skill: Hell’s Descent?” He asked the system and another panel appeared over the initial one holding the kill count.
[Cooldowns Reset: Hell’s Descent – Ready]
The sun had begun its climb again, its first light brushing over the war-torn edges of Greshan. Smoke curled lazily in the wind. Corpses — demon and human alike — littered the field in uneven clusters.
But the battle wasn’t over.
Not entirely.
Damien stood over the space where he’d ended the life of the fused demon, shoulders straightening, eyes fixed on the dark horizon beyond.
There were still more.
Distant howls. Skittering footsteps. The sharp, jittering click of clawed feet darting across stone.
The outer hordes hadn’t all died. The battlefield was scattered, broken — and many of the lesser demons had fled to the outer ridges during the chaos.
They were coming back now.
Drawn by blood.
Damien didn’t smile.
He didn’t need to anymore.
He turned toward the ridge and raised a hand toward the sky.
“Skylar. Fenrir. Cerbe.”
The three apex summons — all still fighting further out — froze at once, their ears perking as Damien’s will moved through their core links.
“Push forward and erase anything that still breathes.”
Skylar shrieked and surged upward, wings folding inward before launching toward a distant tree line where a cluster of shriekers were trying to regroup.
Fenrir let out a low growl and vanished into the woods — leaving a trail of wind behind.
Cerbe barked in three voices, flames already trailing from its paws as it bolted to the western slope.
Damien lowered his hand and turned to the still-staring Arielle and her group.
“I’ll handle the rest here,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “There’s still dozens, Damien. Some are hiding.”
“I know.”
He turned his gaze toward the battlefield, toward the lowlands between the ridge and the inner valley.
Then he spoke again.
“Luton.”
The red slime, still massive from swallowing the suicidal mana burst earlier, slithered forward from the shadows. It had begun to take on a vaguely humanoid shape — not fully bipedal, but tall, broad, and oddly graceful in its movements.
“Eat.”
It pulsed once in understanding.
And then it moved.
Luton drifted into the field, expanding its gelatinous body in every direction. Any demon corpse it brushed against — even those just recently slain — disappeared into its body without resistance.
Crackling sounds echoed across the ridge as one by one, bodies were pulled apart and absorbed into the slime’s impossible space.
Arielle shivered.
“Every time I forget how horrifying that thing is… it reminds me.”
The commander, sitting nearby and barely patched up, gave a tired nod. “That summon’s as terrifying as its master.”
Damien walked into the open field like a man going for a stroll.
Around him, demons hiding in crevices or behind torn trees began to take notice.
They hissed.
Snarled.
And charged.
The first few came in twos — fast but reckless.
He swatted one aside with his staff and shattered the second’s skull with a single burst of pressure.
[Kill Count: 3,593 / 5,000]
Three more followed — he spun, ducked under a flailing limb, and crushed a chest cavity under his boot before driving his staff through a crawling brute’s throat.
[Kill Count: 3,598 / 5,000]
Still more came.
He didn’t stop.
Fifteen minutes passed.
The demons began to shift tactics — coming in groups, flanking him, trying to coordinate.
Didn’t matter.
They died.
His focus was clean, sharp. Every kill was a step forward. Every motion deliberate.
Soon, a wave of twenty or more came rushing at once — a chaotic formation, screeching from all sides.
And Damien… stopped moving.
He rolled his shoulder.
Cracked his knuckles.
And smiled — not out of amusement, but certainty.
“Come.”
They did.
The lead ones crossed the ten-meter line.
The system chimed.
[Skill Ready – Hell’s Descent]
Damien exhaled.
Raised his palm.
And whispered, “Let it burn.”
The field screamed.
The rune flared again beneath his boots, ten meters wide in a perfect glowing ring — a sigil drawn in golden-red heat and fury.
Cracks appeared in the ground.
And then—
Lava.
Boiling, hungry, sentient.
The ground opened, and magma bled from the seams like the world itself had ruptured.
Hell’s Descent ignited.
Boooooom!!
Demons within range had no chance to react.
Their feet dissolved. Their lungs boiled. Their eyes burst.
They shrieked as they tried to run — but the lava followed their souls.
They clawed, stabbed, spat spells — but the fire devoured only them.
Humans stood at the edges — untouched. Birds perched on trees beside the ring — unaffected.
Only the marked ones suffered.
And suffer they did.
[Kill Count: 3,644 / 5,000]
Arielle watched from the higher slope, hand over her mouth.
The commander whispered, “I’ve seen battles. But this…”
“Not a battle,” Arielle said.
“A massacre.”
Inside the ring, Damien turned slowly — no longer moving quickly.
No need.
Everything that entered his space melted.
One particularly large brute tried to leap through — Damien caught it mid-air, slammed it down, and held its body into the lava as it disintegrated.
[Kill Count: 3,653 / 5,000]
Time passed slowly.
He remained in the lava ring for eighteen seconds.
When it ended, the fire receded — leaving behind a field of blackened earth, cracked and glassy, with bones fused into the rock like grotesque fossils.
Damien stood in the center — alone.
Still untouched.
He looked toward the last cluster of demons at the far edge.
They fled.
Skylar dove from above, blackfire streaking behind.
Cerbe tackled one mid-sprint.
Fenrir skewered another with an icicle and flung it into a tree.
[Kill Count: 3,711 / 5,000]
The tide had broken.
For real this time.
Luton returned, its form smaller now, having finished devouring the remains and sealed several low-tier mana cores inside its strange body.
Damien nodded once. “Good.”
A voice called behind him. “We’re sweeping the flanks!”
A band of Dunters approached, waving in coordination.
“The last two clusters retreated westward! It’s over!”
Damien finally turned around.
He walked back slowly — boots crunching against scorched earth, cloak trailing smoke.
Arielle met him halfway.
“You should sit.”
“After,” he said.
She frowned. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’ll sit,” he muttered, “after I make sure it’s all over.”
