Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast
Chapter 67: The Ashen Creed

Chapter 67: The Ashen Creed

From beneath the arena, where the ignition rune had fallen and violet-black aether bloomed, a single eruption followed—terrifying in its finality.

A dazzling giant mushroom cloud exploded upward, and from the balcony, Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat.

Her hand gripped the railing so hard her knuckles turned white, eyes locked on the apocalyptic swirl tearing into the heavens.

The air shimmered with heat, pressing against her skin like a furnace blast.

Stone flew outwards, hurling jagged fragments of marble and shattered iron into the crowd.

A spear-sized shard impaled a bannister inches from a noble’s face, while splinters of tile slashed across silk-robed courtiers now screaming in pain.

The sound—if it could be called sound—was a resonating shockwave that struck through bone and soul alike, a chime of doom.

It shredded the sky.

Guards and nobles immediately took cover behind the railings in a hurried panic, avoiding the flying projectiles of debris.

Then came the dust.

A colossal wave of pulverized marble and ash burst outward, drowning everything in a tidal surge of blindness.

The scent of scorched flesh and dust warred in the choking air.

Seraphina flinched, her stomach lurching as bile rose in her throat—the stench dragged memories of the battlefield back into vivid, nauseating focus.

Screams rose from every direction.

Panic became a living thing as the white marble turned crimson beneath the bodies. Dust choked the sky as shattered stone rained down.

And at the center of it all: silence. The heavy, suffocating kind. The kind that comes just before the next scream.

Then the flying debris all began to fall down and settle on the floor.

Dozens of heads turned at once. Faces pale, eyes wide, hearts thundering. For a single breathless moment, everyone stared at the devastation in stunned horror.

A new kind of panic surged—raw and instinctive, a silent, collective realization that nothing would ever be the same.

Screams erupted anew, sharper this time.

Nobles scrambled over one another, guards barked out fractured orders, and children clung to anyone who would hold them.

Some tried to flee. Others fell to their knees, too shocked to move.

The stage had been reduced to a crater of mangled stone and ash, an unrecognizable scar where grandeur once stood.

Cries echoed above the devastation: "Protect the heirs!" "Get the children out!" "The wards are collapsing!"

Seraphina’s barrier flared, its edge straining under the force of falling debris. She and Bennett stood poised at the edge of the high balcony, eyes wide with dread, limbs coiled to act.

Her voice rang out like a thunderclap, "Lucas!"

Bennett moved without hesitation.

He hurled himself from the balcony, golden trails of aether spiraling around his descending form like divine fire.

Seraphina followed a breath later, leaping from the crumbling stone and summoning a disc of pure force beneath her feet to control her descent.

With another leap, she soared downward, wind and flame tearing at her hair and cloak.

Her heart thundered in her chest, every breath shallow with fear.

The only thought in her mind—Lucas. Please be alive.

As they landed amidst fire and ruin, their paths split—dodging tumbling masonry and scattered guards, calling for their son.

Smoke swallowed their cries.

Above, untouched by the destruction, the Valtair balcony remained still. The silver-haired man, his face cut by an old dueling scar, stared down at the chaos with a glint of restrained malice.

"Good show," he muttered, his voice laced with bored amusement, though his fingers drummed a tense rhythm on the railing, "Took them long enough to make it interesting."

Beside him, the woman draped in layers of obsidian silk tapped her chalice rhythmically against the railing, "They have finally started..."

"Took them long enough," the man growled, "Any longer and I would’ve started doubting that it was going to happen."

"The children, especially that Valen boy..." she mused, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, "He won’t survive the day. They’re already moving."

Below, Bennett skidded across fractured stone, golden sparks trailing his heels, eyes wild with desperation as he reached through the overwhelming static of arcane fallout, seeking the flicker of his son.

Beside him, Seraphina hurled her palm forward, conjuring a radiant windburst that cut through the haze like a blade. The smoke slightly parted.

"Bennett! There!" she cried, voice cracking.

From the edge of the destroyed platform, a massive silhouette took shape—broad, hunched, unmistakable.

Ash.

He strode through the choking dust like a phantom of war. Blood streaked down one shoulder, his black fur matted with soot and glowing with residual aether. And from his powerful jaws dangled a limp figure.

Lucas.

Covered in dust, coughing and trembling, the five-year-old clung to consciousness. His collar was torn, cheeks streaked with ash, and his tiny limbs shook not from injury, but from the shock of what he’d just seen.

Ash reached them and lowered the boy with surprising gentleness, cradling him briefly before setting him down behind a slab of cracked stone. Lucas buried his face in Ash’s neck, clinging instinctively to the warmth and safety the beast offered.

’I almost wasn’t fast enough,’ Ash muttered, his voice low with guilt—but even as he spoke, his golden eyes remained locked on the shifting smoke, alert and unblinking.

No sooner had he spoken than his ears twitched.

A glint of movement—fast, sharp, precise—a dagger of condensed aether sliced through the smoke, aimed not for chaos but for a kill.

’They’re still here!’ Ash growled, muscles tensing.

With a snarl, he slammed a paw into the ground.

Umbral Rend!

From the cracked floor, shadows erupted in spiraling tendrils, writhing like serpents with purpose. One of them lashed upward, catching a cloaked figure mid-lunge—a flicker of grace halted in midair. The cult leader herself, her twin blades gleaming with unholy runes, was caught, suspended by coils of pure shadow.

She hissed, fangs bared, her voice coiling with venom. "I underestimated you, guardian beast."

Then her gaze shifted—down, toward the boy behind the rubble.

Her eyes narrowed.

"He survived that?" she said with dark amusement, a note of disbelief beneath the rage. Her eyes flicked to Ash, narrowing slightly, "No... he didn’t survive it... He was saved."

Her silver eyes blazed hotter, the scorn bleeding into her voice, "You really did your job."

She let out a breath, low and measured, "No matter. Let the boy have his protector... it only makes the fall more painful."

Before she could twist free, a bolt of golden fire cut through the air.

"Stay off my son," Bennett snarled.

Aether burst from his palm, lancing into her ward, shattering her suspended form against a collapsed column with a thunderous crack.

Seraphina rushed to Lucas, falling to her knees.

She cradled his small face with trembling hands, brushing ash from his cheeks, "Lucas. Sweetheart. Look at me. Say something. Are you okay?"

Lucas blinked slowly.

His eyes were glassy, his breathing unsteady.

He looked at her—then to the burning ruins—then back to her.

"I was scared," he whispered, voice barely audible. "It was loud... and everything broke."

Seraphina pulled him into her arms without hesitation, holding him tightly as if to shield him from the world.

The battlefield rumbled.

The smoke peeled away, not from magic, but from presence. A hum filled the air—dark and relentless. Seven figures emerged in a triangle formation, their cloaks tattered yet regal in their decay. At the center stood the leader.

Her cloak shimmered with silver thread, its edges soaked in aether. Her hood was lowered now, revealing a burn-scarred crown melted into her flesh. Her silver eyes gleamed like twin moons painted in blood.

The other five cultists broke formation almost instantly.

One darted low across the ground like a hunting jackal, knives gleaming in both hands. Another launched skyward, flipping in midair before descending in a spiraling dive of steel. A third slid between fallen rubble with snake-like grace, her hands crackling with unstable magic.

The last two split left and right—one with brute strength that shattered stone underfoot, the other silent as a shadow. They darted through the crumbling battlefield, moving with inhuman speed.

Screams followed in their wake as they fell upon nobles scrambling to escape.

A woman shielding her daughter was the first to fall, her protective barrier shattered by a slash of aether-imbued steel.

Another cultist hurled a bolt of cursed energy into a group of guards, sending them sprawling across the shattered tiles.

"Defend the children!" multiple cries rang out.

Some nobles stood their ground.

A burly man in blue robes, trembling but resolute, conjured a shimmering wall of force, locking blades with one of the cultists as his heir fled behind him.

Another unleashed a chain of lightning, striking one assailant square in the chest—but it wasn’t enough to stop the surge.

Pockets of resistance formed, desperate parents and elite guards clashing with the invaders amidst smoke and fire.

A young guard, barely older than a squire, screamed as a blade pierced his abdomen, his hands scrambling weakly at the hilt before he collapsed. The chaos intensified.

Yet still, the cultists pressed forward, fanatical eyes fixed on their targets—not victory, but massacre.

"Now the parents are also here," the leader spoke, gaining the main attention once again, "Good. Looks like this stone will take out three birds."

Bennett and Seraphina stepped forward together, wispy green and silver aether flaring in radiant arcs.

With a sweep of his arm, Bennett summoned his guardian beast—a colossal lupine wreathed in storm and swirling wind. Aureval burst from the churning aether, his silver-blue fur streaked with lightning, his eyes glowing like twin storm-lanterns.

With a deafening howl that shook the very sky, he landed beside Bennett, the force of his arrival blasting dust and shattered stone in every direction. Each movement left vortexes spiraling in his wake, and his fangs gleamed with condensed pressure.

Seraphina raised both hands, her voice a commanding melody. A serpent of light tore through a portal behind her—slender, luminous, graceful—its body coiling protectively as it shimmered in rhythm with her heart.

Ash’s muscles coiled, instincts begging him to leap into the fray—but Bennett turned, arm extended in command.

"Stand back, Ash," Bennett commanded sharply, eyes never leaving the leader.

Ash hesitated, ears twitching, "She’s dangerous—"

"And Lucas is your charge now," Bennett said.

"Protect him. No matter what."

Ash’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, stepping back to shield the boy with his body.

The leader laughed, sharp and cold, and faced Bennett directly. Her cloak flared wide as she drew twin blades etched with prayers of ruin.

Her cloak flared wide as she drew twin blades etched with prayers of ruin.

"The Ashen Creed... Remember the name of the group that will kill you."

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