SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

Pain became the rhythm of the fight.

Damien was sent skidding across the forest floor again, boots carving twin trenches through dirt and shattered roots. His back slammed against a thick tree trunk hard enough to split the bark and send a spiderweb of cracks racing through the wood. Leaves rained down as the tree groaned, half-toppled.

He pushed himself off it before it could finish falling.

Blood dripped from his chin, dark and warm, spattering onto the ground. His chest rose and fell steadily, controlled despite the damage screaming through his nerves.

Every breath reminded him that several ribs were still fractured, healing but not yet whole.

Across the clearing, the demon straightened.

Its form was battered—shell cracked in multiple places, one wing useless, black blood matting its torso—but it stood tall nonetheless. Essence rolled off it in thick, oppressive waves, the air warping slightly around its body.

It laughed.

A harsh, grating sound that scraped against the ears.

“Yes,” the demon said, flexing its clawed hands. “That expression. Confusion. Frustration. You feel it now, don’t you, human? Every strike you land… returns to you.”

Damien wiped his mouth again and flexed his fingers. His knuckles throbbed. His forearms felt like they were filled with molten iron.

“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I feel it.”

The demon lunged.

It crossed the distance in a blur, claws sweeping toward Damien’s head. Damien ducked, the claws slicing through air where his skull had been a moment before. He stepped in close and drove a punch toward the demon’s abdomen.

The demon didn’t dodge.

Bang!

The impact landed solidly—Damien felt his fist sink deep, rattling bone and rupturing tissue—and then the backlash hit.

The redirected force exploded outward from the demon’s body and slammed into Damien’s chest like a battering ram. His vision flashed white as he was thrown backward again, boots leaving the ground as he crashed through underbrush and stone.

He rolled to a stop, coughing violently.

Blood sprayed from his lips.

Damien lay there for half a second, staring up at the canopy above, leaves swaying gently as if mocking the violence below.

“…Still hurts,” he muttered.

The demon stalked forward, clearly enjoying itself now. “You strike harder than most. Harder than even some of my kin. But you lack understanding. Strength without wisdom only hastens death.”

Damien slowly rose to his feet.

His eyes weren’t unfocused.

They were sharp.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured that out.”

The demon tilted its head, amused. “Oh?”

Damien didn’t answer with words.

He rushed forward again—but this time, something was different.

He didn’t unleash a flurry.

He didn’t chain blows.

He moved in, dodged a claw, stepped inside the demon’s guard and struck once.

A single punch.

All of his essence compressed into that one moment, that one impact. No wasted motion. No follow-up.

The blow landed squarely against the demon’s side.

The forest boomed.

The demon’s body bent unnaturally around Damien’s fist, ribs caving inward as blood burst from its mouth in a thick spray.

And then, the redirected force hit.

Bang!

Damien felt it slam into him like a hammer to the spine, tearing through muscle and bone. His knees buckled, and he staggered backward several steps, boots digging furrows into the earth.

But he didn’t fly away.

He stayed standing.

The demon stumbled as well, coughing violently, black blood dripping freely now.

Its eyes widened just a fraction.

“…What?” it snarled.

Damien straightened, rolling his shoulders despite the pain. His breathing was heavier now, but steady.

“One hit,” he said calmly. “That’s the trick.”

The demon snarled and charged again, furious now. It slashed, kicked, headbutted—its movements wild but powerful.

Damien met it head-on.

He weaved between attacks, taking glancing blows when he couldn’t fully evade. Each hit rattled his bones, cracked healing fractures open again, sent fresh pain screaming through his body.

But he didn’t retaliate immediately.

He waited.

He endured.

Then—when he saw an opening—he struck.

One punch.

The demon’s shoulder exploded inward with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed as the backlash detonated, slamming into Damien’s ribs and sending him skidding sideways.

He spat blood onto the ground and laughed hoarsely.

“…Yeah,” he breathed. “That works.”

The demon roared, staggering but not falling. It lashed out again, landing a heavy blow across Damien’s side that sent him tumbling across the clearing.

Damien rolled, came up on one knee, and forced himself upright again.

They circled each other now.

The clearing they’d created was unrecognizable—trees uprooted, earth cratered, stone shattered. The air reeked of blood and scorched essence.

Each of them was bleeding.

The demon’s body was cracked and leaking black ichor from dozens of wounds. Its breathing was ragged now, its confidence cracking along with its shell.

Damien wasn’t any better.

Blood soaked his clothes. His muscles screamed with every movement. Healing essence worked constantly, desperately, barely keeping pace with the damage.

But his eyes burned with focus.

It had become exactly what he’d realized it would be.

A battle of attrition.

The demon attacked again.

Damien dodged narrowly, felt claws rake across his shoulder, tearing flesh. He grimaced but stayed upright.

He stepped in and as usual, he landed one punch.

The demon’s head snapped sideways, blood erupting from its mouth and nose as the redirected force smashed into Damien’s own chest.

He staggered back, gasping, nearly falling to one knee.

But he didn’t.

Again.

The demon swung.

Damien endured.

Then…

One punch.

Again and again.

Each strike tore the demon apart from the inside, rupturing organs, cracking bones, even as each backlash hammered Damien’s body closer to collapse.

Minutes stretched.

Then longer.

The demon’s movements slowed first.

Its regeneration faltered, essence flickering unevenly across its body. Its breathing turned labored, each inhale accompanied by a wet, gurgling sound.

Damien noticed.

He waited.

The demon roared and charged with everything it had left, essence flaring wildly as it committed to a final assault.

Damien planted his feet.

He drew in a deep breath.

Essence flooded his arm—not explosively, but densely, compressing until it felt like his bones might shatter under the pressure.

He stepped forward.

And punched.

Not at the center of its chest.

But slightly left.

The impact was catastrophic.

Damien’s fist punched through cracked shell, ruptured flesh, and annihilated everything beneath it. Veins burst like rotten ropes. Essence spasmed violently as the demon’s heart—still beating, still warm—was torn free.

The demon froze.

Its eyes widened in disbelief.

Then Damien’s fist emerged from its back, slick with blood and steaming essence.

The heart slipped from his grip and fell to the ground with a wet, hollow sound.

The demon collapsed.

Its massive body hit the forest floor and didn’t move again.

Silence followed.

Damien stood there for several seconds, arm still extended, blood dripping steadily from his knuckles.

Then he exhaled.

A long, exhausted breath.

“…Finally,” he muttered.

He staggered back a few steps and let himself drop to the ground, sitting heavily amid the wreckage. His entire body ached, every muscle screaming in protest.

He stared at his bloodied hands, flexing his fingers slowly.

Then he let out a quiet chuckle.

“…Are my blows really that heavy?” he asked no one in particular.

After being on the receiving end of them—even partially—he honestly wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

He leaned back against a broken stone, closed his eyes for just a moment and let the pain remind him he was still alive.