Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Lancet read his Grace again, his eyes locked at that one word.

DEFECTIVE.

This wasn’t new. It had started back in the backyard of the Elementalist faculty building when Lancet had summoned Spectra.

Spectra whispered in his ear, urging him to reach deep inside and feel the Gloom. He had lied to her that he didn’t, but Lancet actually had.

And when he dug past the familiar, rushing warmth of his Grace and reached the very bottom of his core, he hit a cold, hollow abyss.

He didn’t find Gloom, no. Honestly, he didn’t even know how to. But Lancet realized something right then. It wasn’t just one abyss, there were many, spread across his soul system.

Something was fundamentally wrong with Lancet’s Grace channels.

The cause wasn’t a mystery. The Gloom Spear explosion that had nearly claimed his life during the Hebthej raid had left a lingering, rotting taint.

Professor Wolfgar Windviper’s grim warning echoed in his mind: ’Your Grace Retention is only going to get worse.’ And the Instructor was right.

Lancet had not noticed it immediately at first because the total amount of Grace he could hold still looked the same on paper. But in practice, something was cracking.

His power would disappear in the middle of use, drop away with a sickening suddenness, and then return a moment later as though nothing had happened.

Even though it was not a total failure, it was something even worse. It was unreliable.

Lancet noticed it most during training. But his fellow Summoners had noticed too, though most of them tried not to make it obvious.

During drills, Lancet would be in the middle of a sequence, preparing a Skill using the Phantom Ring. But then, his channels would suddenly stutter.

He would feel the Grace slip through the damaged paths inside him and the Skill would vanish instantly. One of the instructors would notice. Then he would have to start again.

Again and again, the same problem.

The worst one of all was when he was in the center of the Summoner’s training hall, commanding Thor to execute a lightning sweep, only for his Grace to abruptly short-circuit.

One second, the energy was surging; the next, the connection snapped. Thor had flickered out of existence mid-swing, sending Lancet crashing to his knees, gasping for air as his reserves artificially plummeted to zero before agonizingly climbing back up.

Miss Maecil had panicked. She desperately needed him for the Inter-Class Competitions, so she had dragged him straight to the medical wing.

Nurse Hallow had devised a temporary fix: a specialized, silver-threaded runic seal grafted directly onto the skin over his sternum.

It acted like a synthetic valve, forcefully regulating his Grace flow. It stopped the sudden, debilitating blackouts, but the defect remained. His Grace would still randomly dip and spike, a terrifying, volatile rollercoaster of power.

Knowing he couldn’t go on like this for long, Lancet finalized his newest master plan.

If traditional Awakener medicine couldn’t fix his corrupted core, he would create someone who could.

His next Summon—the Heroine or Villainess he planned to plant directly inside the Serpent Society’s web to dismantle Noctis Dyingbird’s empire—had to be a Healer. An overpowered, reality-bending Healer capable of scrubbing the Gloom from his channels.

He just needed to iron out her design, her intricate backstory, and her motivations for helping him.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Since the Serpents hadn’t made any moves, he focused on training and now, on this Dungeon he had to conquer.

Lancet dismissed the holographic interface then turned to his teammates. ”Keep your eyes peeled,” he told the squad. ”We’re moving down.”

They descended from the cliffside ledge, stepping into the suffocating belly of the Primate Monster Jungle.

The deeper they went, the denser the air became. Even the smell was unbearable; it reeked of crushed ferns, ozone, and centuries of wet rot. Massive tree roots, thick as cars, coiled aggressively across the muddy forest floor, forcing the squad to climb and vault just to make progress.

Above them, the canopy looked impenetrable, making Lancet wonder how any of these plants received sunlight.

Maybe they didn’t need sunlight.

The ambient noise was maddening. The constant dripping of condensation sounded like ticking clocks, interrupted only by the violent rustling in the high branches and distant, guttural hoots that felt far too intelligent to be mere beasts.

”I’m just saying,” Kasto muttered, wiping a thick bead of sweat from his forehead as he hauled his heavy frame over a slippery root. ”If I get eaten by a giant monkey, I want it on official record that I protested this entirely. I prefer my Dungeons with flat stone floors and predictable spike traps.”

Dane chuckled. ”You’re way too terrified for someone who has Summons the size of yours. Besides, I heard monkey-beast meat is highly nutritious. We might have to cook one if we’re in here too long.”

”Ew, please don’t,” Vera grimaced, holding her hands out carefully to push past a cluster of glowing, toxic-looking blue ferns. ”Aren’t monkeys like super close creatures to humans? That’s like cannibalism.”

Min Tu rolled her eyes. ”I’d eat all of you if I was hungry.”

”What?”

They all turned to her. She closed her eyes apathetically and walked forward.

”Stay sharp, all of you,” Lancet interrupted, though a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ”We’re in a Difficult Dungeon, have you forgotten? Whatever is in here isn’t just going to—”

SKREEEEEONK!

A deafening, bloodcurdling shriek shattered the damp air, echoing from the massive trees directly ahead of them.

The canopy started to shake uncontrollably as heavy, agile bodies descended through the branches, tearing through the leaves in a blur of motion.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Seven massive beasts slammed into the muddy floor, completely blocking the squad’s path.

Vera stepped back, her eyes quivering with urgency. ”Min Tu, I hope you have an appetite!”

Lancet’s eyes narrowed as he studied the beasts in front of him.

They were basically the size of full-grown men, but their proportions were horrifyingly warped. All seven of them had four heavily muscled arms ending in razor claws that dug deep into the wood.

Their fur was matted with gray spiky endings, and their faces were the stuff of nightmares—hairless, bone-white masks with four glowing red eyes and jaws that unhinged to reveal rows of jagged, serrated fangs.

”What the hell are those things?!” Kasto yelled, stumbling back a half-step in sheer shock.

”Four-Armed Skull Macaques!” Dane recognized with a spike of adrenaline. ”They’re pack hunters! Fast and incredibly vicious!”

Lancet kissed his teeth. ”Thank God we have a Beast Tamer with us. We can identify these monsters easier.”

The Macaques shrieked again, pounding their lower fists against the mud as their leg muscles bunched, preparing to launch themselves forward.

”Formation!” Lancet barked, his voice slicing through the panic. ”Everyone! Take your positions!”

Kasto slammed his boots into the mud, throwing his arms wide to shield the squishy backline. Vera scrambled behind him, the thick vines coiled around her arms beginning to writhe and awaken with green energy.

Lancet looked over at Min Tu and Dane. They nodded their heads and quickly threw their arms forward, yelling with a burst of will:

”Summon!”