Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons-Chapter 417: Arthur Fate is dead?

"Sergeant, report!" Hawthorne’s voice crackled through the communication systems.

He wants confirmation. Confirmation of murder.

"Target eliminated, sir. Installation Seven has been completely destroyed. No structure remains intact within the blast zone."

Arthur Fate is dead. Has to be dead. Nothing survives that level of destruction. I’ve clearly seen his body there when the explosion occurred; he clearly didn’t have time to teleport out.

The sergeant’s hands trembled as he processed thermal imaging from surviving satellites. The desert floor around the base had become a glass crater, sand fused into crystalline formations by temperatures that exceeded volcanic eruptions.

Absolute obliteration.

"Confirmed elimination?" Hawthorne pressed.

How do you confirm the death of something that no longer exists in atomic form?

"Sir, nothing within a kilometre radius survived. The blast zone resembles surface bombardment from orbit."

If he were there, he’s gone. Reduced to component elements. He is probably carbon elements floating in the dust cloud right now.

The sergeant’s mind continued calculating destruction parameters while his human consciousness recoiled from the magnitude of violence they’d unleashed.

We just used weapons of mass destruction on American soil.

Ground Zero - Installation Seven

Through smoke that blocked satellite observation, twin points of darkness gleamed with supernatural intensity. Not absence of light, but presence of something that absorbed reality itself.

Void-black eyes. Primordial. Furious.

The smoke cleared gradually, revealing an impossible scene that defied the nature of the explosion. Where Arthur had stood, a perfect dome of void black scales appeared.

They were Aetherion’s wings.

The void dragon had appeared instantly, spatial manipulation operating faster than explosive shockwaves. His massive wings formed a protective barrier that had absorbed forces capable of levelling mountains.

Aether’s timing was perfect; he had sensed the danger approaching his master. Immediately appearing next to him and protecting him using his talent and body.

Within the scaled sanctuary, Arthur stood unharmed. His spatial aura flickered with contained energy, but the explosion had barely disturbed his expression.

Arthur was protected. Completely protected, not a single speck of dust was on his clothes.

Aetherion’s wings slowly folded back, revealing the dragon’s transformed expression.

His usual childlike expression was gone, and the playful innocence he showed had completely evaporated.

In Aether’s expression, ancient, primordial rage and fury could be seen.

In his eyes, anger shone like dying stars. This wasn’t the petulant frustration of a spoiled child—this was the wrath of something that could destroy countries, perhaps worlds, when grown.

They attacked Master. They tried to kill Master.

The very air around Aetherion began to distort as spatial manipulation activated on scales that dwarfed his usual playful demonstrations. Space bent away from his position, creating visual distortions that made looking directly at him nearly impossible.

Power without restraint. Danger without limits.

"Master, whoever was here...they tried to hurt you." Aetherion’s voice carried harmonics that made nearby glass spontaneously fracture.

Arthur placed a calm hand on the dragon’s scaled neck, feeling the fury radiating from his companion’s body.

"I’m fine, Aether. You protected me perfectly."

Damage control. Emotional regulation.

But the dragon’s rage continued building. Around them, the glass crater began developing new cracks as gravitational fields fluctuated aggressively. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

He wants revenge. Wants to return the favor.

"Aether." Arthur’s voice carried his authoritative tone. "Control yourself."

Aether finally responded to Arthur’s words.

The spatial distortions gradually stabilized, though Aetherion’s eyes still blazed with suppressed fury. His protective instincts warred with trained obedience.

Controlled. But barely.

Arthur’s perception swept across the devastation surrounding their position. Where Installation Seven had stood, only a glass crater remained. Every trace of human engineering had been erased from existence.

Thorough. Comprehensive. Exactly what I expected.

The military had revealed their final card—weapons of mass destruction deployed without hesitation against American soil. They were willing to destroy everything rather than allow him to operate freely.

I always knew they would do something like that. Still, it’s good to know where we stand.

Arthur’s smile was sharp enough to cut dimensions as understanding crystallised. The rules of engagement had just changed dramatically.

No more pretence. No more restraint.

He turned toward Aetherion, whose fury had condensed into something far more dangerous—cold, calculating purpose.

...

The sergeant’s eyes locked onto incoming data streams as buried sensors transmitted their readings through encrypted channels. Deep desert placement had protected the monitoring equipment from the blast’s worst effects.

Finally. The incoming data will confirm everything.

His hands moved across control interfaces with lightning speed, pulling up readings that would determine whether humanity’s most wanted terrorist had finally been eliminated.

"Sir, sensor data is coming through," he reported to Hawthorne. "Our protected deep-ground placement kept them operational during the blast."

The thermal readings materialized on multiple screens, painting pictures that made the sergeant’s enhanced vision struggle to process the information.

No...no...That’s impossible. Completely impossible.

"Sergeant, report," Hawthorne’s voice carried deadly urgency. "Confirm target elimination."

The sergeant stared at readings that defied every military manual ever written. Heat signatures that shouldn’t exist.

Two massive thermal contacts are still on the site.

"Sir..." His voice cracked despite professional training. "The sensors are showing movement. Significant thermal signatures where the target was last seen."

No human could survive that. No physical power could protect against near a thousand tons of TNT.

Hawthorne’s response carried the weight of national security hanging by threads.

"Impossible. Check the sensors again. They must have been damaged by the blast."

Equipment failure. It has to be equipment failure.

The sergeant’s mind grabbed onto the logical explanation like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

"You’re right, sir. The explosion must have affected the sensor array. They’re probably giving false readings."

"Check the recordings," Hawthorne commanded. "Send me everything from thirty seconds before detonation until signal loss."

Hawthorne wanted to check the video evidence. He wanted the proof of success.

The sergeant’s fingers flew across keyboards as encrypted files transferred through military networks. High-definition footage that would either confirm humanity’s greatest victory or reveal their most devastating failure.

-----

Hawthorne’s vision processed the incoming footage with focus. Multiple camera angles, thermal imaging, seismic data—everything the military’s most advanced surveillance could provide.

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