Damon's Ascension-Chapter 141: The Great Reshuffle Of Humanity - End

Damon let the previous topic settle like a soft dust cloud.

No one moved for a moment, not the security bots, not the press corps, not even the most volatile leaders in the room. There was a different kind of weight here now, a quiet one.

The kind that doesn’t shout for attention but sits in the back of your head and makes you actually think.

He tapped the air one last time.

[Final Subtopic: Cultural Identity, Myth Integration, and Narrative Responsibility.]

The screen didn’t show data this time, but rather showed faces.

A slow sequence of images played out.

There were African shamans casting salt into rivers, Tibetan monks meditating beneath cherry blossoms, Japanese children dressed as gods at temple festivals, German youths sparring in historical reenactments, Native American dancers in full regalia, Norse fire ceremonies in Iceland, Polynesian sky burial rites and Chinese dragon dancers spinning under neon holograms.

All of these images captured since the opening of the first Essence Instance 2 months ago began, all real.

Damon stepped forward. "This is the part no one prepared for."

He shook his head in amusement. "When the world changed, we expected geopolitics to shift. We expected new wars, new treaties, new technology. But what we didn’t expect... was for the world to reach back in to the past so hard."

He motioned to the screen. "In the last three months, there has been an unprecedented resurgence of ancient stories, cultural practices, rituals, and myths across every continent. People are not just embracing their heritage, they’re living them."

Another set of images appeared.

First was a woman in Lagos summoning a fiery spirit during an argument that was shaped like the Yoruba underworld.

Second was a boy in Seoul wielding a sword inscribed with Hanja, said to be gifted by a ’dragon king’ during a Essence instance.

Third was a Hindu man walking through a battlefield based on the Mahabharata, his skin glowing with spectral armor no one could explain.

Damon let the slideshow continue in silence for a beat longer before speaking again.

"Essence instances are not just dungeons, they’re mirrors of our past catalyzed into reality, bringing their power and legends to life. And it turns out... when you give the soul access to power, it doesn’t reach toward the future, it reaches for its roots."

The men and women in the room became thoughtful, pondering on these words and finding some logic to them.

"The world’s cultures are not dead nor are they static. They weren’t killed by time and technological growth, just suppressed."

Damon sighed. "And now they’ve returned anew, reshaped by the rules of Essence instance and rewritten by the hand of the Universe Will, but still... ours."

He brought up the next screen.

[Mythological Resurgence Zones – Status Report.]

Green zones—safe and stabilizing. Yellow zones—uncertain, fluctuating. Red zones—myth-turned-weapon, destabilizing entire regions.

India was bright green and so were Egypt, parts of Ghana, and Mexico.

But surprisingly, America of all places had patches of yellow and red, and so did France, Germany, as well as parts of Russia.

Japan and China were almost completely green, but with pockets of red around sacred sites or political flashpoints.

Damon explained what this meant.

"We’ve seen situations where the Essence AR realms replicate entire mythological conflicts, some of them harmless and some of them terrifying. Along with that, we’ve seen people gain real-world mythical power or items because of their resonance with these legends."

He didn’t name names, but everyone in the room was already thinking of a certain Daniella Bartre, a woman part of the first hundred who matched three separate fire goddesses across cultures and had risen to prominence rapidly... or Zhenya Urbani, whose presence made the air heavier in rooms shaped by ancient judgment themes.

Damon lowered his voice.

"This is not coincidence, it’s akin to a form of narrative resonance. The Universe Will draws on everything a species has ever believed in, and when it gives you power, it usually prefers meaning over randomness given its past actions." freewebnøvel.coɱ

He turned off the slideshow.

"So now I ask you: what meaning are we, the human race, creating? What do our stories teach? Who are our modern gods, and what values do they enforce?"

He stepped down from the platform and began walking slowly across the floor.

"Because here’s the thing no one wants to say aloud... whoever writes the stories, writes the limits of our power. If you define your myths by vengeance, then your power will seek enemies. If your culture glorifies suffering, then Essence instances above tier 2 will reward pain. If your civilization teaches that the world is dying, then every instance will look like an apocalypse."

He stopped, near the center.

"If we don’t claim our narrative, someone else will, and in this age... that’s not metaphor. That’s the law."

A brief silence. Then he continued, sharper now.

"So here’s the new mandate. The first Cultural Integrity Network will be established under the Planetary Embassy, made up of historians, cultural custodians, artists, writers, and mythkeepers from every sovereign state that joins the treaty."

He tapped the air.

[CIN – Cultural Integrity Network Mandate.]

Preserve accurate mythological archives and traditional narratives. Prevent falsification or weaponization of cultural assets in AR instances. Classify mythic zones by resonance risk, exposure, and benefit. Develop education programs that teach instance users the origin of their power. Protect sacred zones from exploitation without consent of indigenous or spiritual stakeholders.

Liang Xuejun nodded slowly in understanding of the issue. "So myth becomes infrastructure."

"Essentially." Damon confirmed.

"Because in this age, belief is architecture, culture is combat doctrine, and narrative is how you wield power." He stated with a knowing look at the various leaders.

He raised a final screen.

[Identity Recognition Protocols.]

"All people—regardless of culture or creed—may use their ancestral or faith-based symbols during awakening, if and only if those symbols are non-violent in origin and have recorded significance." Damon said casually.

Someone frowned.

"So, people are going to walk around with Athena’s wisdom and Ogun’s strength?"

Damon smiled faintly. "Only if their soul matches them. Otherwise, the power won’t stick. Remember, abilities are unique and natural, you can’t force them but you can influence them a little."

Another hand went up. "What if a story is made up recently, but widely believed? Like superhero lore?"

Damon didn’t hesitate. "If belief and identity are there... the Universe Will doesn’t care when the story was written. It only cares how deeply you believe it. The ensuing instance will recreate the power, but what you can take out will be squeezed or downsized to fit the universe’s rules."

He let that settle, then offered one last remark.

"Culture is not a decoration anymore, it’s now a strategic asset. However, we will respect it and try not exploit it. After all, if we do... then the myths may start writing us." Damon said ominously.

He returned to the platform and sat down, all eyes on his youthful face that was shaped by his symmetrical features.

Damon’s voice dropped into something low and final.

"This summit was called not because I wanted to centralize control, it was called because we are now a race with consequences. Everything we do, every coin we earn, every belief we choose to carry forward, it has consequences now."

The lights dimmed as the final screen read:

[End of Summit – First Session Complete]

Damon let the silence hold. Then finally, he said:

"Thank you all for coming. When you return to your camps, vote on the issues as you must. The future waits outside this room. Let’s not keep it waiting."

Damon nodded to the row behind the world leaders.

"After a short press segment, we will have recess. Please enjoy all the Human Embassy has to share."

..........

The moment the summit adjourned, the floodgates opened.

Dozens of camera drones zipped into position, broadcasting in every known language. Holographic mics lit up, and the quiet murmur of foreign press officials turned into an aggressive rush as major networks surged toward the platform.

"Prime Representative Damon Arnan!"

"Damon, is it true you can declare war without consensus?"

"Is the Chaos Realm a death sentence for low-income nations?"

"Are you building a cult of personality or a global government?"

"Sources say you rejected three diplomatic visits from alien factions. Is this xenophobia or strategy?"

"Did you personally approve the death penalty clause in the economic section?"

The barrage was relentless, fast, and sharp, each question crafted like a scalpel and none of them cared about the summit’s meaning, only the headline.

You know the press are.

Damon stood calmly, eyes scanning the crowd.

He answered one, two, maybe three questions, his voice firm but impersonal. Then a fourth reporter tried to twist a budget clause into a quote about "economic enslavement," and Damon’s lips curled, not in anger, but something closer to mockery.

"Ah. I see." His voice cut clean through the noise and the press around froze due to a sudden suppression.

He tilted his head slightly. "You’re not here for truth, you’re here for soundbites. You came to catch me slipping, not to understand how your own species will survive the next century."

No one spoke because that was the truth, but they did not really care about it. Entering this job, their bright-eyed wish to be like comic book journalists who died for the truth had been beaten away by reality long ago.

Damon slowly looked toward the back of the room, where a single hand had been raised the entire time. It belonged to a young woman squeezed between two larger agencies, her press badge half-hidden under a scarf.

"Akua Sadi, from the Ghanaian Channel 9 News Network, right?" Damon said, his voice now casual.

Akua blinked, startled at being called out as she lowered her hand slightly. "Y-Yes, Prime Representative."

Damon gestured, his tone wry. "Why don’t you step forward, Miss Sadi? You’ve been quiet, patient... and frankly, you’re the only one here who didn’t start this segment by baring your teeth."

He looked at the crowd of elite press from around the world from the BBC, NHK, CNN, Al Jazeera, Imperial South China Net, Brazilian Global Live and said with a faint smile:

"The rest of you came looking for scandal. So, I’ll give the exclusive to someone who came looking for understanding."

Gasps echoed through the press row. Several reporters surged forward, shouting questions in protest.

"You can’t do that—"

"This is a summit! We represent—"

"She’s not even syndicated—!"

Damon raised one hand and the room quieted instantly, not by volume, by raw pressure once more.

Just a flicker of that quiet strength reminded them exactly who they were speaking to.

Then he gestured to the stage beside him. "Miss Sadi, if you’d be so kind?"

Akua approached slowly, her heart hammering in her chest. The camera drones were now all on her, and even the diplomats from the back rows had turned to watch.

She stepped onto the stage and did her best not to trip because if she did, it would be over for her.

Damon leaned in slightly, his voice just low enough for her ears alone.

"Take your time and ask what matters because the world’s watching. Let them see what real journalism looks like."

And then he turned back toward the crowd, posture loose, smile patient, but eyes sharp.

"Let the record show, that our future is not decided by the loudest voice, but the one that listens first." He said aloud.