Re-Awakened: I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner

A house materialized around them as reality settled into its new configuration. Noah had chosen something simple—four walls, basic furniture, enough space for seven people to have a conversation without being cramped. Through the windows, endless green fields stretched toward horizons that seemed impossibly distant, broken only by rolling hills and the occasional cluster of trees.

The five elite shadow-wielders found themselves seated around a wooden table that definitely hadn't been there moments before. Their tactical gear looked absurdly out of place against the domestic setting, like soldiers who'd stumbled into someone's dining room by accident.

"What is this place?" The lead elite's voice carried confusion mixed with growing unease. His five-slash markings seemed less impressive in the comfortable lighting of Noah's manufactured living room.

"My domain," Noah replied, settling into a chair across from them. "A pocket dimension where I make the rules."

King Aurelius took the seat beside Noah, flames dancing casually around his fingertips as he studied their prisoners. "Think of it as a private meeting room. Very private. The kind where conversations stay between the people having them."

One of the elites—marked with four slashes—was already testing the room's boundaries. His form began to blur as shadow energy gathered around him, preparing for what looked like a teleportation attempt.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, pouring more energy into the effort. His shadow abilities activated properly, darkness coiling around his body like living smoke, but the expected dimensional shift simply refused to occur. After thirty seconds of increasingly desperate attempts, he slumped back in his chair, confusion evident even through his mask.

"The problem," Noah said conversationally, "is that you don't understand basic physics. Teleportation requires two fixed points—point A and point B. But this domain isn't fixed to anything. It exists in dimensional space that only connects to reality through me."

His voice carried the kind of cold amusement that came from watching someone struggle with an impossible problem. "You can manipulate shadows all you want, but your shadows need somewhere to go. Here, I'm the only exit."

Another elite tried a different approach, attempting to phase through the floor. His body became translucent, shifting between solid matter and shadow form, but the wooden planks beneath him remained stubbornly solid. He couldn't sink through, couldn't find purchase in whatever lay beneath the surface.

"There's nothing under the floor," Noah continued, his tone growing more clinical. "Nothing above the ceiling, nothing beyond the walls except what I choose to put there. You're not trapped in a building—you're trapped in a concept that happens to look like a building."

The largest elite stood abruptly and lunged toward Noah's position. His hand formed a blade of crystallized shadow as he moved, clearly deciding that direct violence was worth attempting despite their circumstances.

Noah didn't move from his chair.

Purple energy erupted from the floor beneath all five elites simultaneously, forming chains of solid void that wrapped around their ankles, wrists, and throats. The attacking figure found himself yanked backward into his seat, the shadow blade dispersing as void manacles locked his arms against the chair.

"In here, I don't fight," Noah said mildly. "I just decide what happens and then it happens."

The chains tightened slightly, not enough to cause pain but sufficient to make breathing require conscious effort. "I could make you more comfortable, but that depends on how cooperative you're feeling."

King Aurelius leaned back in his chair, watching the display with obvious satisfaction. "Gentlemen, your fleet is currently surrounded by Ares forces that outnumber your remaining soldiers by approximately three to one. Your stealth advantages are negated, your command structure is cut off, and your mission has failed completely."

"Our terms are simple," Noah continued. "Tell us where the Eighth is keeping the captured family heads, provide us with communication protocols for contacting your organization, and explain what he's planning to do with his prisoners."

The lead elite's response was immediate and unwavering. "We serve the continuity. Our individual lives are meaningless measured against the preservation of the continuity."

"Continuity?" Aurelius asked, his flames flickering with curiosity.

"The Eighth Ancestor maintains the balance that prevents total war between the seven families," the elite continued. "Without his guidance, your houses would destroy each other and take humanity with them."

Noah studied the man's posture, looking for signs of deception or uncertainty. He found neither. The conviction in the elite's voice was absolute, the kind of belief that came from years of indoctrination or genuine philosophical commitment.

"So you're martyrs," Aurelius said with obvious disappointment. "How tedious. I was hoping for more interesting motivation."

"We are servants of something greater than ourselves," another elite replied. "Your threats mean nothing compared to the importance of our mission."

"What about torture?" Noah asked casually. "Pain has a way of changing people's perspectives on the importance of their missions."

"Irrelevant," the lead elite said. "We have already accepted death as the likely outcome of serving the one you call "the Eighth". Physical discomfort is merely an inconvenience."

Noah was beginning to understand why the Eighth had been so successful for so many generations. His servants weren't just trained—they were programmed with the kind of absolute loyalty that made conventional interrogation techniques useless.

"Very well then," Noah said, his voice carrying the cold satisfaction of someone who'd expected this outcome. "Perhaps the other soldiers will be more willing to work with us."

One of the elites actually laughed, the sound carrying genuine amusement despite their circumstances. "No one serves the continuity for personal gain. Every soldier in our organization would choose death before betraying the Eighth's trust."

As he spoke, his eyes began to change. The normal human iris and pupil disappeared, replaced by perfect darkness that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. He stared directly at the elite seated beside him, maintaining eye contact with absolute focus.

The second elite's eyes responded immediately, darkness spreading across his vision until they matched his companion's perfectly. For a moment, both men sat perfectly still, their black eyes locked together in some form of communication that didn't require words.

Then the second elite's shadow began to move.

It rose from the floor like smoke given substance, maintaining its connection to the body that cast it while extending upward with obvious intent. The shadow's hands formed around the second elite's throat, fingers of living darkness tightening with inexorable pressure.

The man didn't struggle. He sat perfectly still as his own darkness strangled him, his breathing growing labored, then stopping entirely. After thirty seconds, his body slumped forward onto the table, dead.

Noah stared at the scene, his mind racing through possible responses. He tried manifesting void energy to disrupt the shadow, but the darkness wasn't separate from its caster—it was part of him, an extension of his life force that couldn't be severed without killing the man producing it.

"What the hell—" Aurelius began, flames erupting around his hands as he prepared to intervene.

But the process was already repeating. The surviving elites were staring at each other with those same black eyes, and shadows were beginning to rise from their positions. One by one, they used their own abilities to execute their companions, each death carried out with the same calm acceptance.

The third to die fought back slightly, his eyes showing black veins as his shadow wrapped around his chest like a constricting snake. He made small sounds of distress, his hands clawing weakly at the darkness, but the other elites continued staring until his struggles ended with a wet crack of ribs collapsing around his heart.

When only two remained, the process became even more disturbing. The five-slash elite looked directly at his companion, darkness spreading across his vision as he prepared to commit the final execution. But this time, his target tried to resist.

"Please," the final elite whispered, his voice barely audible. "I can serve better alive. The mission—"

His words were cut short as his own shadow rose behind him, solid darkness forming a spear that punched through his back and emerged from his chest in a spray of blood. He looked down at the wound with surprise, blood bubbling from his mouth, then collapsed forward as the shadow blade dispersed.

The sole survivor sat back in his chair, his eyes returning to normal as he studied Noah and Aurelius with calm satisfaction. "I have eliminated all weaknesses from this unit. You now have nothing to bargain with except my cooperation, which you will not receive."

"You just murdered four of your own people," Aurelius said, his voice tight with shock.

"I prevented four potential security breaches," the elite corrected. "Their deaths serve the continuity better than their continued existence under interrogation."

Noah realized they were dealing with someone who operated according to logic that made conventional pressure tactics irrelevant. The man had just demonstrated his willingness to kill anyone—including himself—rather than compromise his mission.

"You're bound to me now," Noah pointed out. "Being in the domain means you can't leave without my permission."

"I'm aware of the situation," the elite replied calmly. "It's unfortunate, but not insurmountable. Eventually, you'll make a mistake that allows me to complete my mission."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Collecting King Aurelius for delivery to the Eighth Ancestor," the man said with the matter-of-fact tone of someone discussing routine business. "The debt must be paid, and I am the instrument of that payment."

King Aurelius laughed, the sound carrying genuine amusement. "You realize you're currently chained in a pocket dimension with no way home, right? Your mission is somewhat compromised."

"Temporary setback," the elite replied. "The continuity operates on timescales that make individual failures irrelevant."

Noah was starting to understand the scope of what they were dealing with. This wasn't just an organization—it was a cult built around concepts that made normal human reasoning inadequate. The man sitting across from him would literally choose death before betraying information, and he'd just proven his willingness to murder his own allies to prevent security breaches.

"Very well," Noah said finally. "If you won't talk, you're useless to us here."

He gestured, and the void chains dissolved. The elite remained seated, making no attempt to attack or escape despite his sudden freedom.

"You're not releasing me," the man observed. "You're returning to extract information from my companions on the outside."

"Something like that," Noah agreed. "Shall we go see how the rest of your army is handling their situation?"

---

The return to the facility's main corridor revealed a scene that defied comprehension. Bodies were scattered throughout the space—not just the shadow army they'd been fighting, but dozens of additional figures that must have been hidden throughout the structure.

Each corpse showed the same signs: eyes turned completely black, expressions of calm acceptance, and wounds that had clearly been self-inflicted using their own shadow abilities. Spears of crystallized darkness protruded from chests, shadow tendrils wrapped around throats, and darkness-formed blades had been driven through hearts and heads with extreme precision.

"They all did it," Sophie whispered, staring at the carnage. "Every single one of them committed suicide rather than risk capture."

Kelvin was moving between the bodies, his scanners trying to make sense of what they were seeing. "This reminds me awfully of the organization where your psycho girlfriend's parent belong to...the you know what. It's insane. Mass suicide triggered by what—shared consciousness? Some kind of hive mind protocol? "

"Cult programming," Diana said grimly. "They've been conditioned to choose death before capture. Every single one of them."

Through the facility's viewports, they could see the same process occurring in the ocean outside. Shadow-wielders who had been maintaining concealment were reappearing as their abilities deactivated, their bodies floating lifelessly through the water. Whatever signal had triggered the mass suicide had reached every member of the attacking force.

"How many?" Lucas asked, though his tone suggested he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

"I count over three thousand bodies," Lyra reported, her voice carrying a note of professional detachment that didn't quite hide her shock. "The entire assault force chose death rather than risk interrogation."

Uncle Dom was examining one of the closer corpses, his expression troubled. "This level of psychological conditioning doesn't happen overnight. These people were programmed from childhood, possibly from birth."

"Which means," Lucy said slowly, "we're dealing with an organization that's been recruiting and training operatives for decades. Possibly longer."

The implications settled over the team like a cold fog. They weren't just fighting an ancient enemy—they were facing a cult that had been growing and preparing for generations while the seven families remained oblivious to its scope.