Arc 9-30
The inside of the house is as unimpressive as its outside, a shattered life covered by a thick layer of dust. The stairs creek as we ascend, loud enough that if anyone was alert we’d have been exposed. There’s no chance of that; the two lovers are in their own world.
Past the landing, creature comforts drape the broken building in a shroud of luxury. The sound of my footsteps disappears as our feet sink into a plush gray rug. Paintings and tapestries hang on the wall, their lack of theme and beaten frames suggesting they’re looted. My lips twist in annoyance as I follow the sound of breathy moans to a large bedroom.
And there he is. In my mind, Callan Atkinson is completely unremarkable. A common boy with the tanned skin of the working class, dark hair, and darker eyes. Fit and cocky, with a sharp gaze and a thin frown. But what I remember most about him is his disdain.
I remember the murderous rage it inspired clearly; somehow, he had the audacity to sit in my home, lusting after my wife, and looked down on me like I was worth less than the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. Despite being nothing and no one, he thinks he is owed the world and more. As someone who had the harsh realities of the world all but beaten into me, I couldn’t stand to be the target of his wanton arrogance. Just remembering it makes me want to squeeze the life out of him.
Catching him seated in a wide-backed chair reminiscent of a throne with a naked girl kneeling between his spread legs does nothing to alleviate the feeling. He has no idea we’re here, as his head is tilted back and his eyes are shut. All he needs is something decadent in his hands, a full glass of wine or a pipe lazily trailing smoke, to complete the picture of debauchery.
When I thought of this moment, I had Rolly’s influence infecting my thoughts with visions of a theatrical entrance, a suitably dramatic one-liner followed by biting commentary, cementing my role as the villain. All that crumples hearing this poor girl do her best to inhale him. It disgusts me and not just because the hairier sex is involved. It’s like watching a feast for a king be laid in front of a pig. Utterly wasteful.
I’m not delusional enough to want every woman to forsake men. Still, this man? He’s a self-absorbed, murdering psycho. One with borrowed power and wealth. Maybe all of that could be forgiven if he was loving and loyal, but he’s already in love with another woman, a married one with no interest in him.
Talk about a waste of time.
The leader of the Grand Summoners becomes aware of our presence when my hand closes over his throat, cutting off a disgusting groan. His eyes snap open, widening with turbulent emotion as he takes in my own violet gaze.
Credit to this Fey woman, her first reaction to a stranger appearing behind her in a vulnerable moment is to lash out, her fist swinging toward my leg with enough for to a cripple a normal person. It doesn’t land; Geneva is immediately on her, dragging her away from her fearless leader. Her eyes jump around the room as she struggles in the thrall’s unbreakable grip, though the more she takes in, the slower her movements become. Heh. Wonder what’s giving her pause? The presence of the city-destroying noblewoman? Or the blue lady lizard?
“Hey there, Mr. Self-Made. You understand fighting would be a very bad idea, yeah?”
He does his best to nod, letting out a choked sound I take as an affirmative. I let him go.
After he finishes sputtering, he looks up at me with caution. “Lady Tome.”
“Tome-Delarre. That’s a bit too casual between us, I think.”
“…my apologies. I meant no offense.”
“Sure? Because I think you don’t give a damn about offending me. Little Water, grab some chairs for us. And Geneva, let the girl get dressed.” His eyes briefly flick to the lady lizard as she moves across the room, but they quickly find their way back to me, ancient instincts no doubt telling him to keep his eyes on the threat. A hint of tension leaves his shoulders as we sit, as if that makes any difference in my ability to kill him.
“At least you’re not dumb enough to deny it,” I commend as he holds his silence. “Assume I know everything. Though I can’t think of a reason to spare you, I’ve seen too many incredible things to believe in absolutes. So you get a chance. Go ahead. Try and explain this whole saints-forsaken mess.”
“I was doing as you commanded,” he starts, voice surprisingly steady. “Spreading the glory of summoning.”
“Sure, you spread summoning. A twisted and, worse, limited version that serves your own ends. Tell me, do you believe the nonsense you’re spreading?”
“What nonsense? I’ve helped people. Made them more than they could ever imagine.”
Saints. “You actually do? That’s…sad.” Means he’s a lot dumber than I thought. “Hey. Do you think that blood and perfect bodies are the best summoning can do? The only road to power?”
“It’s real power. One that can’t be taken away. One that persists even if an elemental is killed. Power that can be passed on more reliably than affinities.”
That’s a good point, but horribly shortsighted. “Doesn’t matter if that power comes with a death sentence. Which it does. You’re kidnapping and murdering people.”
“Power comes with a price. Surely you understand that. You traffic with succubi.”
“Sure. The difference between a proper summoner and a skeevy bastard is that the summoner is the one who pays the price. You tell these people they need to let some monstrous elemental turn them inside out to attract better partners, but why bother if they’re going to put the burden on someone else anyway? That’s probably the most egregious lie you told. No elemental cares if they’re strong as ten men and pretty as a princess if they’re dumb as a rock and have the will of soggy bread.”
“We could work together,” Callan said, switching tactics. “I’m sure you have enemies you want to be rid of. You can rid yourself of them while cultivating a powerful army for the city.”
“The city has protectors.”
The bastard scoffs. “The Temple? I commend you for thinking out of the box, but I know they are a stopgap, the only acceptable option in a city that hates you. Neutral won’t be good enough forever. Your elevation is a tactic to buy the crown time while the king plots your downfall. When the time comes, you will need an army. We can build one that humanity has never seen before.”
“We? Let’s say I see any merit in this little plan of yours. Why would I need you?”
“I…you wouldn’t want to concern yourself with the tedious details.”
“You’re right. I’d want someone to handle the annoying parts. But, again, why would I choose you?”
“Someone with knowledge of summoning—”
His jaw snaps shut with a clack as I hiss in frustration. “Don’t insult me by talking about your knowledge in summoning.” A bastard who picks and chooses his truths doesn’t get to brag about his so-called expertise. “You’ve been studying for less than a year and you haven’t even been dedicated, running around playing cult leader. There is a literal school filled with summoners who have pursued legitimate study for years. There are people who are smarter than you, braver than you, and better connected than you. People far, far more trustworthy than you. I’m genuinely curious, Callan. By all the saints in Paradise, what makes you think you deserve anything?”
“Because I want it!” he screams, his own frustrations slipping free. “And I don’t accept that my life is meaningless!”
I ignore him as he begins to rant, mostly self-aggrandizing mixed with him telling me how much I need him. An internal flex coats the tips of my fingers with a few drops of something to calm him down. Quicker than a blink, I grab hold of his throat again, pressing my fingertips against his skin. In a breath, his tense jaw relaxes and the angry flush on his cheeks starts to recede. In the next breath, his eyelids flutter. Two more breaths and he lets out a deep sigh, slumping into unconsciousness.
Fey lets out a startled cry, but it’s cut short. I turn to see Geneva’s tail wrapped around her throat, choking her sobs. My brows furrow as I take in her teary eyes; on her perfectly sculpted face, even that expression is beautiful. It’s an imperfect beauty, her face an amalgamation of attractive features fixed together without a thought for their impossibility. It makes her look familiar and foreign, with a touch of something unsettling. Unlike the carefully constructed lure of the succubi, it reeks of a desperate need to please. To be something others want. Or maybe that’s because I found on her knees for a worm like Callan.
He doesn’t accept that his life is meaningless? Ridiculous. He doesn’t need an invincible army to have a meaningful life. He doesn’t even need to marry Kierra. There are a thousand ways for him to make his mark on this kingdom; Harvest is in desperate need of competent people. This isn’t about moving up in the world.
This is about conquest. About taking what doesn’t belong to him and beating down others to climb over them. It’s about the worst kind of ambition. And most importantly, it’s about envy. The weak desiring something they were never meant for. Only bad things can happen when people try to fight their fates; there are no clean ways in this world for the untalented to usurp the blessed.
I don’t count. I can look down my nose at someone like Callan because Cosmo turned my life around. I didn’t change my fate. Still don’t believe there was anything I could have done on my own beyond disappearing into a quiet corner and dying unremembered. I knew my place. It’s just my luck that someone with a lot more power decided they had a better plan.
“P…pa…ple….”
Fey is desperately trying to say something despite the tail strangling her. I wave; Geneva relaxes her hold. Fey’s voice remains strained but is intelligible.
“Please…don’t…kill him.”
Saints preserve her. She looks like I’m about to kill her. This idiot really is her whole world.
“You know he was using you, right? That he was using all of you?”
“Please…”
And doesn’t give a damn from the looks of it. That kind of devotion is admirable. Tragic, but admirable.
“I won’t kill him. There’s even a chance that he gets out of this alive. A small one.”
“How?” she asks, her tone saying she’s grasping onto the offered hope with the whole of her being.
“There’s nothing you can do. His fate is in the hands of the law.”