Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast
Chapter 68: Stand

Chapter 68: Stand

The moment the armored cultist’s boots hit the cracked stone, the battle exploded into motion.

His glaive swung in a vicious arc toward Seraphina’s flank—no words, no delay, only killing intent. But she was already moving, silver sigils flaring around her.

Her serpent dove from the sky with a cry like shattering crystal, intercepting the blade in a luminous coil. Sparks and aether clashed as metal met radiant flesh.

Bennett struck next, golden aether roaring from him like a tidal wave. "Strike, Aureval!" he commanded.

With a howl that split the heavens, Aureval streaked forward—a blur of stormlight and claw. The massive wind-lupine slammed into a cultist charging for the center, claws extended. Wind-forged talons ripped through armor, sending the attacker airborne in a spray of broken stone.

Aureval turned, his limbs kicking up cyclones as he dashed toward another target, slicing through rubble and attacking the other cultists.

With every bound, the storm deepened.

Seraphina’s serpent glided beside him, cutting wide arcs through the chaos. It coiled protectively around fleeing nobles and hissed out radiant bursts that tore through spellwork mid-cast.

The cult leader sneered as her twin blades lit with ruinous glow, ignoring the actions of the summons.

Bennett didn’t reply. He moved.

In a flash, he was upon her. Their blades collided in a blinding clash of gold and violet. Each strike thundered like a war drum, echoing through the ruined arena.

The leader twisted nimbly, parrying, dodging. "Still predictable," she hissed, driving in with a jagged feint.

"I only need one hit," Bennett spat, his strikes never slowing.

At their side, the armored minion pressed Seraphina hard, glaive crashing down in shockwave bursts. But she danced through the blows, her serpent shielding her flanks. With a flick of her wrist, crescent sigils hovered around her like moons.

"Try harder," she whispered—and the sigils burst forward, slamming into the cultist’s chest and sending him skidding backward in twin grooves.

All around them, fury reigned. Aureval howled again, tearing through another attacker with a slicing cyclone. The serpent dove low, scattering foes with luminous wrath.

And in the center, the four combatants crashed together—gold and silver against shadow and ruin.

And neither side would yield.

Ash crouched low beside Lucas, breath heaving as the clash between titans played out before them. He watched as Aureval twisted midair, targeting a cultist wielding a crackling spear of corrupted wind.

The two collided with a shockwave of pressure and sound. Steel rang against storm-forged fang as the cultist met Aureval’s lunge with a jagged block.

The impact sent dust spiraling, debris scattering, and for a moment, they became a storm within a storm.

The two locked in a brutal dance—neither yielding, neither relenting. Each blow matched by another, Aureval’s claws lashing with bladed gales while the cultist spun with spear arcs meant to cleave the wind itself. They were equals, locked in a savage stalemate that raged at the edge of the battlefield, dragging everything nearby into their vortex.

Ash’s eyes flicked left. A noble’s ward shattered, followed by a scream as a father was impaled by a jagged blade. His daughter cried out, only to be dragged into the smoke by a masked cultist.

Right side—another mother fell, a blade lodged in her spine as her children scattered.

His jaw clenched. These weren’t soldiers. These were butchers. Fanatics. cultists set loose on the innocent.

Aureval lunged, stormlight wrapped around his fangs. He reared to strike—when Bennett, mid-swing, staggered under a feint from the leader. Her blade carved toward his exposed side.

Ash’s eyes widened, ’Bennett—!’

But Aureval had already turned. With a thunderous snarl, the wind-lupine twisted mid-leap, abandoning his target.

He vaulted across the field, a surge of cutting air trailing behind him, and slammed into the cult leader’s blow just before it reached Bennett.

Wind exploded outward, throwing both the summon and the cult leader back.

Bennett stumbled back, eyes wide, caught between fury and shock.

He turned toward Aureval, who now had a gashing wound on its side, blood matting the thick fur around his flank. For a heartbeat, their eyes met—grit meeting sacrifice.

"Stubborn bastard," Bennett muttered, jaw tightening, golden lines flaring hotter across his arms as he stepped forward again.

Ash exhaled slowly.

His gaze dropped to Lucas.

The boy was shaking—small hands pressed to his chest, eyes wide and shimmering with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. His breathing came in tiny, fast gasps and his lips quivered, his voice caught somewhere between a cry and a question.

Ash stepped in front of him again, shielding his view from a fresh flash of lightning and blood. His golden eyes scanned the battlefield—not just the duel of summons, but everything else: nobles trampled in their panic, mothers pulling their children behind shattered statues, and dozens more lying broken in craters of flame or wind.

Further away, Seraphina’s serpent repelled yet another attacker while protecting a helpless mother and son.

Ash’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t in their favor. This wasn’t enough. The defenders were losing ground. Too many would die before it was over.

His voice came low, grounded in steel.

’This isn’t good,’ he growled.

He looked out again, at the nobles falling, the children bleeding, the world unraveling.

’We need more strength.’

Without another word, he thrust his claws into the shadow beneath him.

Shadows of the Pack!

From the darkness, three silhouettes sprang forth—copies of Ash, rippling with shadow-born intent. They darted with silent urgency, each a mirror of lethal precision.

The first clone intercepted a cultist mid-lunge, slamming into him and driving him back in a spray of rubble.

The second weaved low, claws slicing across the legs of another, disrupting his momentum.

The third, eyes glowing, flanked the rear, cutting off any escape as they closed in on a lone cultist near the northern edge.

The figure turned—too late.

All three Ash-shadows moved with inhuman coordination.

Umbral Bind!

Dark tendrils erupted from the ground, serpentine and swift, coming from each of the clones as they surrounded the man.

They coiled around the cultist’s limbs, yanking him downward and locking him in place as he shrieked in panic. The cords constricted tighter with every flinch.

Instantly, Seraphina’s serpent sensed the opening—and struck.

With a divine screech, it dove like a falling star, piercing the bound target with the silence of ending.

The collision was deafening, not just of light, but of will—like thunder trying to outshine silence

’That’s one down...’ Ash mumbled to himself, relieved that the surprise attack had caught the cultist off guard.

But then, just as Ash was about to move onto the next person...

He felt a sudden tug on his fur.

He turned sharply, eyes narrowing—only to meet Lucas’s gaze.

The boy looked up at him, still wide-eyed, but this time not with helplessness. His small hand had latched onto Ash’s mane with trembling resolve.

His fists clenched again—less from fear now, and more from a growing, blazing need.

He turned to Ash.

"I want to help," he whispered, voice cracking with new resolve.

Ash turned to him, his eyes sharp—but he didn’t speak immediately.

He studied the boy’s trembling hand on his fur, the tear-streaked face trying so hard to look brave.

For a moment, Ash hesitated—not out of doubt, but surprise.

In a sea of screaming nobles and fleeing children, here stood a boy, no older than five, gripping his fear and demanding to fight.

This wasn’t defiance. This wasn’t recklessness. It was courage. In the face of death, Lucas had chosen to stand.

’You want to help?’ he said, voice lower than before, ’This isn’t a ceremony, Lucas. This isn’t some game or lesson. This is where you might die.’

Lucas swallowed hard but didn’t back down.

Ash let out a slow breath, ’Then there’s only one thing you can do.’

He leaned closer, eyes meeting the boy’s with unflinching gravity, ’Summon your first beast.’

Lucas’s breath hitched as his confidence suddenly seemed to shake. His lips parted but no sound came out. His fingers dug into Ash’s fur, knuckles whitening.

"But... I’ve never—what if I fail? What if it goes wrong?"

He looked around at the death and devastation, at the collapsing nobles and crying children, and the doubt swelled inside him like a rising tide.

Ash didn’t speak right away. He saw the hesitation, the fear—but also the fire beneath it, struggling to surface.

He bared his fangs, not in anger, but in urgency, ’This is no longer a ceremony, Lucas. This is a battle. And the people who are trying to kill us will not wait. If you don’t fight now, people will die. Everyone you care about will die.’

His voice softened, just slightly, you don’t need to be perfect, ’You need to try. That’s what it means to stand."

Lucas clenched his jaw. A breath caught in his lungs. A spark lit somewhere deep inside him, barely a flicker—but it was enough.

He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth grit, shutting out the screaming, the blood, the death. He reached inward—not just into his aether, but deeper. Past fear. Past doubt. Past the part of him that still whispered he was too small, too weak.

A pulse answered.

And with it came motion.

Far off, Seraphina’s head jerked to the side—her eyes wide as she turned to see Lucas evoking his aether.

Green wisps of aether began swirling around his fingertips, wind-charged and alive. They shimmered with the glow of awakening magic, wrapping around his arm and dancing with urgency.

Lucas lifted his trembling hand and began to trace instinctual shapes into the air—sigils he’d never been taught but somehow knew.

The glyphs hovered around him, drawn in glowing strokes of wind and purpose. The moment felt suspended, the battlefield falling away into quiet reverence.

Each sigil locked into place like pieces of an ancient gate being formed. One breath. Two. Three.

And then the final stroke.