Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

After that declaration, the entire meeting was moved away from the reverent Council Hall. A place like that shouldn’t bear witness for what they were about to discuss.

Instead, they gathered in a gauntleted space simply, and intimidatingly, known as the war room.

The room was in the shape of a pentagon, with the ground made of black hard steel and humming silver circuitry. The five walls rose high into a tall ceiling where a chandelier of floating crystal shards gave blue and gold light across the chamber.

Each wall was not a wall at all, but a massive screen, and on each screen loomed the face of a Sovereign, their gazes filling the room with the weight of five kingdoms.

The table at the center was round and vast, obsidian inlaid was used for the surface and above it was a blue holographic map of the world.

Around the table sat only five Council Members this time. Obel at the head, his wizardly beard brushing the table as he leaned forward in quiet contemplation; Ressis to his right, elegant and watchful; Verdrak to his left, his pointed white beard twitching with barely contained irritation; and two others, silent and observant.

Lancet and his Heroines sat on the opposite side. Yes, they were finally sitting this time, seeing as this was no longer an interrogation but a strategy formulation.

Their chairs were high-backed and cushioned, a far cry from the hard benches of the detention vehicle. Before them, the remnants of a feast lay scattered across the obsidian surface; silver platters heaped with roasted meats, baskets of crusty bread, bowls of glazed fruits, and bottles of wine from the royal cellars of Aethelgard.

They had been fed well. The Council, it seemed, had decided that gratitude was best expressed through culinary excess.

Thor was the only one not done eating.

She sat with a turkey leg in one hand and a wedge of meat pie in the other, her cheeks smeared with a faint smear of grease.

She tore into the turkey leg like it was a demon itself and she munched on it like a wolf. She washed it down with a long pull of wine straight from the bottle, her throat working as she drained it to the dregs.

Then she slammed the bottle down and let out a belch that echoed off the pentagonal walls.

No one spoke.

It wasn’t really surprising to see her this way. Thor was from the part of Aethelgard that used to be known as Norway. A lost tribe known as the Vikings lived there, and they were known for their voracious appetite.

A trait that was passed on to the beautiful but deadly Valkyries.

Espel looked at Thor, her embarrassed expression hidden behind her blank face. Kestrel raised one elegant eyebrow, her expression hovering somewhere between disapproval and reluctant amusement.

Astensia closed her eyes for a brief moment, like a big sister ashamed of the actions of her little sister in the presence of the extended family.

Spectra laughed genuinely. ”Thunderbird, you continue to surprise me. Such grace. Such poise. Truly, the Valkyries must have been magnificent dinner guests.”

Thor wiped her mouth with the napkin which was surely odd for her. ”The Valkyries understood that battle builds appetite, Demoness.”

”Indeed,” Spectra hummed.

Lancet, who had been nursing a glass of non-alcoholic wine, shook his head slowly. ’I’m actually 24 for fuck’s sake. Why do I have to drink non-alcoholic wine?’

The door at the far end of the war room opened, and the atmosphere shifted.

A tall man with a lean build and close-cropped grey hair stepped into the room. His face was angular, sharp-jawed, with deep-set eyes the color of flint. He wore the uniform of the Kingdom Rangers Board — a fitted coat of dark green with silver epaulets and a high collar — but it was not the uniform that commanded attention.

It was the way he moved. Every step was deliberate, economical, the stride of a powerful, fearless and determined man.

Lancet recognized him immediately. His name surfaced from the depths of his memory like a stone breaking the surface of still water.

President Alistair Bane.

The strongest Unawakened in the world.

The novel had described him as a paradox. A man who, by all rights, should have been obsolete in an age of Awakeners and Demon Lords, yet had somehow remained indispensable.

He had achieved what few non-Awakeners and even Awakeners ever could: the Perfect Body.

Through decades of relentless training and an almost inhuman understanding of Grace, he had learned to use the energy internally, reinforcing his bones, his muscles, his senses, without ever manifesting a Class.

He could not hurl lightning or summon dragons. But he could shatter stone with his bare hands, move faster than the eye could track, and endure wounds that would fell lesser men.

He had once held a collapsing building while the people inside evacuated. That was a crazy amount of strength for someone who was Unawakened.

Lancet had always liked his character.

Alistair Bane walked to the head of the table and inclined his head toward the screens. ”Sovereigns. Council Members.” His voice was calm and measured, the voice of a man who did not waste words. He did not look at Lancet. Not yet.

”President Bane,” Romsgard’s voice filled the room from his screen. ”Thank you for coming so quickly.”

”The message said war.” Alistair’s flint-grey eyes flickered briefly toward the center screen. ”I came.”

Obel cleared his throat and gestured to the empty chair beside him. ”Please, sit. There is much to discuss.”

Alistair sat. And then he listened.

They told him everything. Obel began with the charges, the testimony, the Demon Scouts. Ressis added details about Braavas’s confession. One of the other Council Members recounted Spectra’s gambit with the reanimation, and despite himself, Alistair’s gaze flickered toward the Mother of Demons for the briefest of moments.

Spectra met his eyes and smiled. ”I’m more charming in person, I assure you.”

Alistair said nothing. He simply returned his attention to the Council and continued listening.

He did not interrupt. He did not question. He absorbed every detail with patience. He was a man who understood that information was the most valuable weapon in any arsenal.

When they finished, he sat in silence for a long moment, his fingers steepled before him. Then he spoke.

”This is a parlous act of war from Gehenna.” His voice was quiet, but it carried. ”From what I gather, the truce was a strategic deception, and it has given them months to prepare while we grew complacent.”

He thought for a moment then looked up. ”The only response to this is full on retaliation. We must retaliate. Terribly. But... we must also prepare for the Warning Gates.”

Obel leaned forward. ”You have information about the Gates?”

”I was already on my way to inform the Council when I received the King’s summons,” Alistair said. ”Something is happening. All over the world the Gates are... glitching.”

Everyone listened to understand what that meant. ”Glitching?” Ressis asked.

Alistair nodded. ”Deliberately, we believe. Calamity Dungeon Gates are hiding themselves as Higher or Difficult Dungeon Gates. Simple Dungeon Gates are masquerading as Calamity, drawing our strongest Awakeners and Rangers to basically swat flies while weaker ones are sent into what they believe are Simple Dungeons, only to find Difficult, Nightmare, or Calamity waiting for them. We’ve lost three parties this month alone.”

The room was quiet. Lancet felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered this from the novel. The Warning Gates had not really been a Warning at all.

Not like it usually used to be.

Alistair leaned forward, his eyes sweeping across the table. ”The Demons have been playing us for fools. The truce. The Gates. The half-citadels. They have a great scheme. One we’ve been blind to. But that ends now.”

He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was harder. ”I’m suggesting something that has only once been suggested in the past. And only once refused.”

The chamber held its breath.

”It’s time to stop defending. It’s time to take the war to Gehenna.” He placed his hands flat on the obsidian table. ”I suggest we build the first Human Citadel in the Second World.”

All breaths dropped in the room.