Chapter 917: Arc 9-28 (Geneva)

Callan Atkinson was a man with many faults. Geneva added boring to the extensive list. The clandestine meeting called for dramatics and showmanship. It was his first time meeting greedy, impressionable minds and he came to tempt them to unspeakable evils. The man should have been mysterious and seductive. Powerful and overbearing could have worked as well. Instead, all he offered was a well-practiced smile that only the truly astute could recognize as strained.

“Welcome, old friends and new,” he began, raising his voice loud enough to easily reach even the corners of the room. The crowd moved to congregate before him; after all, he was what they’d come to see. “Welcome to this very special meeting of the Grand Summoners.

“For any who do not know us, let me tell you who we are. What we are. We…are simple people who wish to be more. Stronger. Healthier. Wealthier. The dreams of anyone born to a common fate who wonders why they live in a shack and another lives in a mansion. Why their hard work isn’t good enough. This kingdom is not a fair place. Talent divides the fortunate from the pitiful, whether they are good or evil. The weak have no options when the strong come to prey on them. At least, that is what they want you to think.”

He pauses to look around the room, meeting gazes in a false bid for connection. His words resonated with the crowd; for all his faults, Callan knew how to reach them. He was them. All he had to do was speak from his heart.

“The magic of the kingdom demands talent and talent is hoarded in the blood of nobility. But what if I told you there exists a different kind of magic? There is path where the heights you can reach are only limited by what you are willing to sacrifice to reach them. Where the whole of your being is judged, not just to whom you were born. Where hard work can overcome talent.

“That art is summoning. It is magic that connects worlds, a power beyond the king himself. It is a power than can chain a dragon to a man. To you. If you are willing to sacrifice. If you are willing to work. If you are willing to hurt .”

A hand touched his chest. “I speak from experience. My name is Callan Atkinson. For four generations, my family has worked wood. The Atkinson name is synonymous with quality and art. Four generations dedicated to a single trade. What is the height of our achievement? A pig dressed in noble finery liked his tea table enough to grant my father a last name and the honor of working for his house, donating a tithe of his hard-earned coin for it. Many would say it is a good life. I know it is better than what I could have been born to. Maybe your story is similar to mine. Maybe you were born to far worse. But we are the same in that we want more.

“I could have lived a stable life with a roof over my head and enough food to fill my belly. Do you know what else lives that life? Dogs. Cats. Birds in a cage. So long as they know their place and amuse their masters, they live comfortable lives. But they’re not allowed to dream. To be more than what their betters say they can be. The whole of their life is determined before they are born, and they don’t have the will to fight it. They’re too brainless to care.

“Well, I’m no one’s mutt. I say, I’m as good as any noble. I say, I can be better than all the idiotic bastards given half the chance. But if you don’t agree, then go. Because it may be possible, but saints know it won’t be easy. It’ll be hard and messy. And once you start down this path, it won’t be easy to turn away. So, if you have already given up on yourself, leave. Go to sleep and pretend this was all a dream. Live at the mercy of the arrogant noblewoman who slaughtered your friends and family like disobedient pets.”

Geneva was impressed. It was a good speech. Rough and far too combative, but he’d hit the important parts. Using Lou to stoke their rage, insecurities, and envy was quite effective. The city’s tragedy was a real example of the fate that could befall them if they remained powerless. He framed the decision as a matter of survival and even the most cowardly would take drastic action when the alternative was death.

Feet shuffled and eyes bounced between faces for signs of doubt, but no one moved. Callan’s smile brightened, success making the expression more genuine.

“As I said, summoning is the art of bringing together worlds. It is the courting of power. You present yourselves to beings of unfathomable might and ask them to work with you. To serve you. To teach you. This is where your hard work pays off. Who are you? Are you worthy of that kind of power? Most likely, the answer is no. But that isn’t the end. You can better yourself. You can read. You can train. You can become a better you. And the better you are, the better the partner you can coax to your side. Not unlike romance of any other kind, no?”

There was a smattering of chuckles but most of the crowd looked nervous. Knowing their many weaknesses. Starting to doubt.

“I am here to help you improve,” Callan said, his voice controlled despite the unease in his audience. “All of you must have at least one connection to hunters. If so, you will know the value of healers. And perhaps you know of their elites. Men who can make others more.”

He snapped his fingers and the woman at his side, Fey, stepped forward. She leaned against him as one of her arms wrapped around his waist. The crowd gasped as she lifted him without the slightest hint of strain. She grinned as she met everyone’s gaze before setting Callan down.

“The Grand Summoners have contracted a healer from another world. One far beyond even the best healer of the kingdom. A being that can remake you. Imagine your true self. Anything you’ve ever wanted. Every detail, no matter how impossible you once thought it was.” His hand reached out, brushing back Fey’s bangs. “Strength, of course. But also beautiful skin.” His hand trailed down her face, roguishly cupping a breast. She leaned into the touch like an affectionate pet. “Any figure. Curvier. Leaner. Broader.” She shivered as his hand moved between her thighs, though he wasn’t even looking at her. “Longer.”

Well. All the men in the crowd were certainly on board.

“The better you are, the better the partner you will attract. But even without summoning, you all can see the power of this boon. What could you make of yourself if you had the strength of a dozen knights? If you could run as fast as a sprinting horse? If you had a face to make someone fall in love with a single glance? Who could you be if you had the talent denied to you at birth? You can have it. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more. If you can pay the price. So let me ask you. Do you want to be more?”

The crowd murmured affirmations.

“I didn’t hear you. Maybe you don’t realize this is the chance to change your lives. Do you want to be more?”

Their answers were louder.

“Of course you do. Everyone does. But what I need are the people who need it. The people who will fight. The people with the will to fight their way to the top. Do you want it?”

They yelled their desires, eyes alight.

“DO YOU WANT IT?!”

They roared, hearts pounding and hands balled into fists.

Callan nodded. “We’ll see.”

He clapped his hands and three men stepped forward. Two carried trays with small, discolored glasses filled with clear liquid. The last carried a basket filled with things that squeaked and scratched. They moved through the crowd, handing each person a drink and a wriggling rat. Everyone took their burdens, even if a few made faces. Callan was no exception.

“What you become is determined by what you’re willing to sacrifice,” he pronounced. He slammed back his drink, swallowing the large mouthful in one gulp. Then he snapped the rat’s neck, cutting off its squeaks.

Geneva feigned disgust, waiting for at least a few others to complete the task before breaking the disgusting creature and throwing it away with a grimace. The rest of her group did the same. The act might have been distasteful, but no one would hesitate over a pest. It wasn’t much of a test, which is why Geneva was certain it would get worse.

It did. The men went through the crowd again. The first two handed out more drink and small blades. The third handed them a bird. Another easy kill; some of the crowd even joked about cooking them later.

The third test was strays. Skinny mutts that flung saliva with their barks in-between gnawing their cages and feral cats with matted coats. Some recoiled from the ferocious displays but the creatures were held down by the men, rendered harmless. There was a lot more hesitance to slit their throats, as the people saw in them the shadows of trusted companions. But no one failed. In the end, no one cared for unfortunate beasts more than their own futures. There were even a few jokes of eating them too, but Geneva attributed that to the drink.

Then, it was time for the true test.

Laughter died as the man was dragged before the crowd. He was bound, gagged, and blindfolded, stripping him of his identity. The soft whimpers they could hear through the cloth forced between his lips resembled a wounded beast more than a man. He trembled like a rabbit as he was forced to kneel.

Once more, drinks were passed around. And, like before, Callan took the lead. Raising his glass, he downed the liquor before brandishing his knife. He also pulled out a small coin purse, undoing its string and holding it out toward the crowd.

“This power requires sacrifice. I could tell you who he is. That he is one of the rebels that would have preyed on a broken city, no better than the beasts that would have torn you apart if not leashed. But none of that matters. There is only one relevant truth; this man stands between you and power. Will you let him?”

The man didn’t scream as Callan stabbed him, though his whimpers became more pitiful. Callan slowly took a gold from the coin purse and put it in his pocket. Then he waited.

It didn’t take long before the first man stepped forward. His lips were twisted in a sneer as he stabbed the man. He was far more hesitant to reach for the gold, moving with glacial speed as he pinched a coin between two fingers. He practically scampered away, his sneer transforming into a trembling smile as he fondled the coin.

That was it. Their morals compromised and their hands stained with blood, the crowd surged forward to partake in the profane ritual. With each stab, the man’s whimpers heightened but he never fought. After the seventh stab, he fell to his side, curling up like a babe. Still, the blades entered his body, his voice growing weaker as his blood pooled beneath him. His pitiful figure gave some pause but there was too much pressure. To refuse would mark them as weak and whether they acknowledged it consciously, everyone understood there was nothing to stop them from being the one of the floor, the sacrificed.

And when they stood back with bloody knives in one hand and gold in the other, there was no turning back. They could not run because they were a part of it. A cabal of murderers. If the only choices were to exchange blood for power or face the law as criminals, it was obvious what they would choose. They might be sick and scared, but they ignored the wails of their humanity. And for those who lacked willpower, the drinks were free and ever flowing.

The body was dragged from the floor and socializing began. Callan moved through the crowd, covering the horror by guiding them to imagine all they could have. He mixed their dreams into their drinks and they swallowed both down with anxious excitement. The death sparked a desire for life, at least in her target. The horny man, awash with lust and bloodlust, made to collect on her unspoken promises. His date was no longer in the mood, having retreated into herself. Geneva guided the fool to the washroom.

The moment the door closed, her eyes flashed and he was unconscious; his enhanced body did nothing to protect his mind. She carelessly dropped him beside the glorified bucket a few patrons had already relieved themselves in and bided her time in the dark, unwilling to navigate drunken agendas. She could hear everything, picking apart the chatter and occasionally collecting their deeper thoughts.

When Callan announced his departure, she opened the door and slipped away without a single gaze following her, trailing her little project into the dead of night.