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

Just as the world continued on in the absence of Noah Eclipse, the universe did so too.

Somewhere above Earth’s orbit, in humanity’s central orb of defense, the Ark hung in the void like a monument to organized paranoia. The station was massive, easily ten times the size of Vanguard, with defensive arrays that could reduce an approaching fleet to constituent atoms before they got within firing range. It had been humanity’s last line of retreat during the worst of the Harbinger wars, back when people genuinely thought extinction was maybe three bad weeks away.

Now it served as the EDF’s central command, housing the Supreme General and enough military brass to staff a small dictatorship. The architecture was all function over form, gray corridors and reinforced bulkheads designed to survive everything up to and including direct bombardment by weapons that violated several laws of physics.

In Conference Chamber One, the largest meeting space on the station, humanity’s military leadership had gathered for their quarterly strategic review. The room could hold three hundred people comfortably and currently held about two hundred and fifty, all of them wearing uniforms decorated with enough medals and insignia to stock a small jewelry store.

The Supreme General sat at the head of an absurdly long table, his black beast armor making him look like death given administrative responsibilities. Nobody knew his real name anymore. He’d been Supreme General for forty years, through three major Harbinger incursions and countless smaller conflicts. The armor was apparently fused to his body through some classified augmentation process that the EDF swore totally wasn’t horrifying human experimentation.

Around the table sat admirals, generals, fleet commanders, and various other people whose job titles required multiple sentences to explain. Miss Brooks was there, looking uncomfortable in the formal dress uniform they’d made her wear for this. Cassandra sat nearby, her expression carefully neutral. Commander Volkov and Commander Mei occupied seats further down, both of them radiating the quiet tension of people waiting for bad news.

The holoprojector in the center of the table displayed a rotating star map showing humanity’s colonial holding’s, each one color-coded by strategic value and threat assessment. Green dots represented secure territories. Yellow indicated contested zones. Red meant active combat operations.

There were a lot of red dots.

Admiral Hendricks, a man whose face looked like it had been carved from granite and disappointment, stood to present the current status report. He’d been doing this job for fifteen years and had perfected the art of delivering catastrophic news in a monotone that made it seem like he’d stopped caring about human life somewhere around year three.

”Crystal Peak continues nominal operations,” Hendricks began, gesturing at a green dot in the inner colonies. ”Mining output is at ninety-three percent of projected quotas. Energy crystal extraction remains our primary source of beast core equivalent materials for military applications.”

A holographic display populated with statistics that nobody except the logistics people actually cared about. Production numbers, refinery capacity, shipping schedules.

”Green Crown remains under Harbinger occupation,” Hendricks continued, his tone not changing despite announcing humanity’s failure to reclaim an entire agricultural world. ”All reclamation operations have been suspended indefinitely following the loss of the Seventh Fleet two years ago. Estimated civilian casualties during initial invasion: four point two million. Current status of survivors: unknown.”

The room stayed quiet. Green Crown had been one of the bread baskets, a terraformed paradise that fed a dozen other colonies. Losing it meant rationing on half the outer territories and skyrocketing food prices everywhere else. But nobody wanted to talk about the strategic disaster of letting Harbingers hold an entire planet for two years because that would require admitting the EDF didn’t have the resources to take it back.

”Red Haven fortress world reports continued high casualty rates,” Hendricks said, moving to the next red dot. ”Monthly losses average two thousand personnel across all defensive installations. Harbinger assault patterns have intensified over the past quarter. Recommendation is to increase troop rotations to prevent complete garrison exhaustion.”

”Recommendation denied,” said General Pavlov, a woman whose default expression suggested she’d been sucking on lemons for the past decade. ”We don’t have the personnel for increased rotations. Red Haven holds or it doesn’t. Either way, we’re not pulling troops from other fronts.”

”Acknowledged,” Hendricks replied without emotion. ”Blue Haven survival installation remains classified. Location and operational status are need-to-know. Current assessment: functional.”

He moved through the rest of the colonies with the same clinical detachment. Mining operations here, refinery capacity there, casualty projections everywhere. The map rotated slowly, each colored dot representing millions of lives reduced to statistics and resource allocation problems.

Finally, Rear Admiral Kowalski, a man who looked like he’d been personally offended by the concept of happiness, stood up and interrupted.

”Can we skip the boring statistics?” His voice carried the kind of aristocratic disdain that came from three generations of military service and a family fortune that predated spaceflight. ”We all received the reports. We know the numbers. Let’s discuss the actual reason we’re here.”

Hendricks looked at the Supreme General, who nodded once. The holographic display shifted, leaving the colony map and replacing it with tactical footage from the Eastern Cardinal.

The room’s energy changed immediately. This was what they’d come to discuss.

”Commander Kruel,” Hendricks said, and the name alone made several people shift uncomfortably in their seats. ”Four-horn Harbinger, first encountered by Pathfinder Team Seven on Sirius Prime approximately eight months ago. Initial engagement resulted in three hundred thousand EDF casualties and Kruel’s escape via Purge agent intervention.”

The display showed grainy footage from combat recorders, flashes of blood here and there and soldiers dying in ways that made even hardened officers look away.

”Subsequent appearances were unverified through intelligence channels until sixty-two days ago, when Kruel manifested on Earth through unauthorized portal technology.” Hendricks pulled up new footage, this time from the Eastern Cardinal. ”Attack duration: seventeen hours. Confirmed civilian casualties...”

He paused, and for the first time, his monotone cracked slightly.

”Official public reporting states two point three million dead. Actual casualty estimates based on recovery operations, missing persons reports, and infrastructure damage analysis suggest the number is closer to four point eight million.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

”We lied to the public,” someone said from the middle of the table. Colonel Chen, if Brooks remembered correctly. ”Told them half the actual death toll?”

”Accurate reporting would have caused mass panic,” Admiral Kross replied, her voice carrying defensive edge. ”The civilian population needed to believe the situation was manageable. Four point eight million dead in less than a day would have destroyed morale across all four cardinals.”

”So we just pretended two and a half million people didn’t die?” Chen’s voice rose slightly. ”Their families deserve to know!”

”Their families deserve not to live in terror,” Kross shot back. ”The decision was made at the highest levels for strategic stability.”

”The decision was made to cover our asses,” muttered General Roderick from the far end of the table, though not quietly enough to avoid being heard.

The Supreme General’s hand came down on the table with a sound like a gavel. Not loud, not aggressive, just enough to remind everyone who was actually in charge.

”The casualty reporting strategy is not up for debate,” his voice emerged from the beast armor with electronic distortion that made it sound inhuman. ”Continue the briefing.”

Hendricks cleared his throat and resumed. ”Kruel demonstrated capabilities significantly beyond initial assessments. Direct engagement with multiple S-rank awakened resulted in total combat superiority. EDF defensive positions were systematically eliminated. The attack only ceased when Harbinger forces voluntarily retreated through the portal network.”

”Voluntary retreat?” This from General Thorne, his voice carrying skepticism. ”Four-horns don’t retreat. They complete objectives or die trying.”

”Correct,” Hendricks agreed. ”Which suggests Kruel’s objective was accomplished. Analysis indicates the attack was a strategic test rather than an extermination effort. Measuring human response times, defensive capabilities, resource allocation. Gathering intelligence for future operations.”

The implications settled over the room like toxic fog.

”They’re preparing for something bigger,” Fleet Admiral Zhang said quietly. ”Kruel’s attack was reconnaissance in force. Next time, they’ll know exactly how to break us.”

”Then we hit them first,” said General Korsakov, slamming his fist on the table with enough force to make his medals jingle. ”We find a Harbinger stronghold in space and we glass it. Show them that humanity doesn’t just defend. We retaliate.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. Several officers nodded, their expressions carrying the kind of aggressive certainty that came from wanting revenge more than they wanted strategy.

”And which stronghold do you propose we attack?” Admiral Hendricks asked dryly. ”We have seventeen known Harbinger positions in colonized space. Each one would require fleet commitments we don’t have, and that’s assuming we don’t trigger a coordinated response that makes Kruel’s attack look like a warmup exercise.”

”We can’t just sit here and take it!” Korsakov shot back. ”Four point eight million dead! The Eastern Cardinal is still burning! We need to show strength, show that attacking Earth has consequences!”

”Attacking a Harbinger stronghold with our current force distribution would leave the inner colonies exposed,” General Pavlov countered. ”We’d be sacrificing defensive stability for revenge theater.”

”It’s not revenge, it’s deterrence!”

”It’s suicide dressed up as strategy!”

The argument escalated rapidly, voices overlapping, officers shouting over each other with the kind of passion that suggested they’d been having this same fight for months.

The Supreme General let it continue for maybe thirty seconds before his hand hit the table again.

Silence.

”The question of retaliatory strikes will be addressed after we resolve more immediate concerns,” the distorted voice said. ”Specifically, the matter of reclaiming lost assets.”

Admiral Kross stood, activating a new display. Four faces appeared in holographic projection. Noah Eclipse, Sophie Reign, Kelvin Pithon, Diana Frost.

”The Eclipse Faction,” Kross said, and the room’s energy shifted again, this time toward something approaching unified distaste. ”Formerly Pathfinder Team Seven. Currently operating as an independent military force in the Eastern Cardinal.”

”Independent military force,” General Roderick repeated with disdain. ”Let’s call them what they are. Deserters playing soldier with civilian approval.”

”They invoked Article 47,” Commander Cassandra said quietly, speaking for the first time. ”Legal discharge under military law. They didn’t desert.”

”They quit during a tribunal,” Roderick shot back. ”Found a legal loophole to avoid consequences for destroying an entire planet. That’s desertion with extra steps.”

”The planet was destroyed by an entity they had no control over,” Miss Brooks said, her voice carrying steel despite her discomfort with the formal setting. ”The tribunal was politically motivated character assassination.”

”The tribunal was necessary accountability!” Admiral Kross’s voice rose slightly. ”They operated without authorization, engaged in combat operations across multiple star systems, and whether directly responsible or not, their actions resulted in planetary destruction. They needed to answer for that.”

”So you drove away two alpha-rank soldiers and two exceptional support specialists,” Commander Mei said, her tone carefully neutral. ”And now they’re operating independently with no oversight, no restrictions, and growing civilian support across the Eastern Cardinal. Well done.”

The sarcasm was subtle enough to have plausible deniability but sharp enough to draw blood. Several officers bristled.

”Those children have no concept of respect,” General Thorne said, and Brooks noticed his hands were clenched on the table. Whether from anger at Team Seven or anger at the situation they were in, ”They were given every opportunity to serve with honor. Instead, they chose to throw away their futures and embarrass the organization that trained them.”

”They chose not to be scapegoats,” Cassandra replied. ”There’s a difference.”

”They chose pride over duty!” Someone else.

”They chose not to let one of them take the fall for something none of them did!”

The argument reignited, officers splitting into camps. Some defended the tribunal’s actions and condemned Team Seven as disrespectful children who’d gotten lucky with their genetic lottery. Others pointed out that driving away your two most powerful young soldiers maybe wasn’t brilliant strategic thinking regardless of legal technicalities.

Brooks stayed quiet, watching the political theater play out. She’d known this meeting would devolve into this eventually. The Eclipse Faction had become a symbol, a representation of everything the EDF’s rigid hierarchy couldn’t control.

”The fact remains,” Admiral Hendricks said, cutting through the noise with his monotone, ”that Eclipse Faction currently possesses two alpha-rank awakened and operates with complete autonomy. Noah Eclipse is SSS-rank, the first since the Supreme General himself. Lucas Grey is S-rank from an original bloodline family. Their loss represents a significant reduction in Earth’s defensive capabilities.”

”Then we conscript them back,” General Korsakov said bluntly. ”Emergency powers. Humanity faces extinction-level threats. We can override civilian status and recall them to active duty.”

”On what legal grounds?” Commander Volkov asked. ”Article 47 discharge is permanent. You can’t conscript someone who’s already served and been legally released.”

”We can if the Supreme General declares a state of emergency that supersedes normal recruitment law.”

”And you think they’ll comply? You think forcing them back into service will make them effective soldiers rather than resentful conscripts looking for the first opportunity to quit again?”

”They don’t get to quit!” Korsakov’s face was getting red now. ”They don’t get to walk away from their duty just because they don’t like the consequences of their actions! This is war! People don’t get to choose whether they serve!”

”Actually,” said Rear Admiral Kowalski with aristocratic disdain, ”that’s exactly what Article 47 allows. Exceptional service grants exceptional privileges. Including the privilege to leave. The law exists for a reason.”

”The law was written before we faced existential threats that require every capable soldier we can field!”

The Supreme General’s hand came down on the table for the third time, and this time everyone shut up immediately.

The distorted voice emerged from the black beast armor with absolute authority.

”It is imperative that we bring the boy back. Eclipse, specifically, but his team as well if possible. Noah Eclipse represents humanity’s strongest defensive asset outside this chamber. His void manipulation capabilities are unmatched. His combat record against Harbinger forces speaks for itself. We cannot afford to operate without him in our ranks.”

The room went silent. Miss Brooks felt a smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation.

It hadn’t been six months yet. Six months since Team Seven walked out of the tribunal chamber and invoked Article 47. Six months since they’d quit rather than accept being scapegoated and separated.

And already the EDF was desperate to bring them back. Already the organization that had tried to destroy them was admitting they’d made a catastrophic mistake.

”The question,” the Supreme General continued, ”is not whether we retrieve this asset. The question is how we do so without triggering another Article 47 invocation or public relations disaster.”

”Offer them contracts,” suggested Admiral Zhang. ”Mercenary arrangements where they maintain independence but work for EDF compensation. Give them what they want, autonomy, and we get their combat capabilities.”

”That sets a terrible precedent,” General Pavlov countered. ”Every soldier with exceptional service would start demanding special treatment. The command structure would collapse.”

”The command structure is already compromised by losing our strongest soldiers!” Someone said.

”So we compromise it further by showing that quitting gets you better terms than staying?” Another countered.

They were arguing again, voices rising, the same circular debate about pride versus pragmatism that had defined military bureaucracy since someone invented the first hierarchy.

Brooks tuned them out, watching the holographic images of Team Seven rotate slowly in the display. They looked so young in those photos. Noah couldn’t have been more than nineteen when that picture was taken. Sophie maybe twenty. Just kids, really, who’d somehow become powerful enough that their absence made admirals panic.

The argument continued for another ten minutes, proposals and counter-proposals flying back and forth with increasing desperation. Offer them money. Offer them autonomy. Offer them command positions. Threaten their families. Threaten their faction. Send diplomatic envoys. Send recruiters. Just send the Supreme General himself to personally ask.

The debate was reaching its peak, voices overlapping in chaotic cacophony, when the chamber doors burst open.

A young officer, lieutenant by his insignia, practically ran into the room. His uniform was disheveled, his face pale, and he was breathing like he’d sprinted the entire way.

”What is the meaning of this interruption?” Admiral Kross demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

”I apologize, Admiral, but this couldn’t wait, I—”

”This is a classified strategic review! How dare you—”

”SILENCE!” The Supreme General’s voice cut through the chaos with electronic authority. He looked at the lieutenant, and even through the armor’s featureless faceplate, his focus was palpable. ”Speak.”

The lieutenant swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he held up a data chip.

”Supreme General, sir, this is a priority transmission from Red Hollow. Mining colony in Sector Seven. It came through emergency channels approximately eight minutes ago. They specifically requested it reach you immediately.”

The mood in the chamber shifted. Red Hollow was a resource world, valuable but not strategically critical. For them to use emergency channels meant something catastrophic.

”Play it,” the Supreme General ordered.

The lieutenant moved to the holoprojector with hands that trembled slightly, inserting the chip. The colony status map dissolved, replaced by combat footage that made several officers lean forward.

The image quality was poor, corrupted by interference and damage to the recording equipment. But the content was unmistakable.

Red Hollow’s mining refinery burned in the background, massive structures collapsing while figures moved through the chaos. EDF mechs engaged targets off-screen, their weapons fire illuminating the smoke-filled air. Soldiers in combat armor fired their ravager blasters at enemies the camera couldn’t quite capture, their muzzle flashes creating strobing light.

The ground was littered with bodies. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.

Then a figure moved into frame, and the camera focused despite the interference. A man in combat armor that looked like it had been through a meat grinder. Blood ran down his face from a gash across his forehead. One arm hung at an awkward angle, clearly broken. His eyes carried the kind of exhaustion that came from fighting beyond human endurance.

”This is Platoon Leader Damon Ryker,” the man said, his voice hoarse. ”Red Hollow Mining Colony, Sector Seven. This is a priority transmission to the Ark.”

He paused, breathing hard, and the sounds of combat intensified behind him. Explosions. Screaming. The distinctive whine of ravager blasters on full auto.

”It is imperative that this message reaches the Supreme General.”

Another pause. Damon looked directly at the camera, and his expression carried something beyond fear. Beyond desperation. Something approaching resignation.

”Supreme General, sir...”

The image flickered, interference creating bands of static across the feed.

”We’ve encountered a five-horn.”

The feed cut to black.

The conference chamber sat in absolute silence.

The Supreme General, who had been rising from his seat, preparing to leave now that the Eclipse matter had been addressed, slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

His hands, encased in that black beast armor, came to rest on the table with deliberate care.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

A five-horn Harbinger.

The feed remained black, the silence broken only by the ambient hum of the Ark’s life support systems.

Then, quietly, almost too quietly to hear, someone whispered:

”We’re fucked.”