The Unwanted and the Unseen

The little princess had fulfilled her pledge, and just as expected, they refused to send me home. That was perfectly fine. In truth, even if given the option, I would have declined. To be spirited away to this astonishing new world only to be sent back would have been a colossal waste. This planet was a canvas, and I intended to paint my own masterpiece upon it. The absurd task of battling demons could fall to the prophesied hero they were so eager to summon. I offered a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening, asking them to grant the poor soul a blessing to lighten his inevitable burden.

The preparations were completed with practiced efficiency. Beside the grand altar, the translucent container that had held the crystal now stood empty.

One of the priests, a man draped in gaudy, ostentatious robes, bowed to the King. “Your Majesty, all is ready.”

With a slight, dismissive wave of his hand, the King sent the man back to his position. Then, alone, he approached the altar.

His hand reached out, his fingertips brushing against the crystal’s surface. A faint light bloomed at the point of contact, erupting into a cascade of brilliant, concentric ripples. The crystalline prison, like an ephemeral illusion, dissolved into nothingness. So, it was true magic after all. And in that moment, I realized the gem had been levitating the entire time.

With the container gone, the King placed both hands gently on the floating crystal. He stared into its depths, his lips moving in a silent, indecipherable chant. It was surely an incantation of some kind, but I was too far away to discern the words. Around the chamber, the assembled dignitaries and officials shifted, taking their final positions as they awaited the ceremony’s commencement.

After several minutes, the King seemed to conclude his invocation. He released his hold, and the crystal drifted serenely to the very center of the altar. The King then retreated to his station, flanked by a retinue of royal guards. An unseen wind began to stir within the sealed chamber, whipping at our clothes and hair with a sudden, spectral force.

“Failed hero, attend closely!” King Ramstaros’s voice boomed over the rising gale, his expression stern and commanding. “This is the sacred ritual to summon a divine champion! Soon, a true hero—one blessed with heavenly might and a heroic spirit—shall appear to vanquish the demon lord and deliver our people!”

That irritatingly self-important declaration only made him sound more like a pompous fool. I ignored him, turning my full attention back to the altar.

Ironically, as the arcane runes etched into the altar’s surface began to pulse with a brilliant white light, the rest of the room seemed to plunge into deeper shadow. It was a disorienting spectacle. Soon, the crystal itself began to thrum with a matching luminescence, appearing not just to reflect the altar’s light but to amplify it. As the wind subsided, the crystal started to emit trails of multicolored light that spiraled through the chamber like lazy, miniature comets, leaving faint whistling sounds in their wake. A few of them circled me, and where they passed, I felt a pleasant, comforting warmth seep into my skin.

After about half a minute, the mini-comets converged, merging into a single, thick ribbon of light. It soared high above the crystal before plunging directly down into its core. The gem refracted the energy, shattering it into a thousand lesser beams that shot out randomly across the hall. Then, just as suddenly, they all converged again, focusing into one immense, blinding shaft of light. A shaft of light that was aimed directly at me.

The beam struck, and my world exploded into white. The smaller trails had been bright; this was searing. What was happening? Please, don’t let this be a setup. Was I a component of the ritual? Did they need a sacrifice—the one who was summoned before—to call the next? The horrifying possibility, one I had never considered, sent a jolt of pure panic through me. This was a disaster.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the focused beam of light vanished. My thoughts caught up with reality, and I took a frantic, mental inventory. I was still here. Still alive. A wave of relief washed over me, immediately replaced by anger. I shot the King a furious glare, a silent, furious demand for an explanation. He merely stared back, his own expression one of complete bewilderment. I glanced around and saw that every other person in the room was also staring at me, their faces a gallery of shared confusion.

Ignoring the interruption, the ceremony proceeded. As the afterimage of the beam faded from my vision, another ray of light poured from the base of the crystal onto the altar’s surface. The mystical script flared to its maximum intensity, and a massive pillar of pure energy erupted upwards, climbing toward the domed, stained-glass ceiling. For several seconds, the column of light stood tall, orbited by the swirling comets, a beacon that could likely be seen for miles.

Then, as the pillar slowly dissipated, a thick, rolling mist flooded the chamber, obscuring the altar from view.

Through the haze, I could just make out a silhouette. The knights moved swiftly, forming a protective cordon around the King and the other important figures. This must have been what my own arrival looked like from the outside. I remembered the disorientation, the numbness, the feeling of being surrounded by strangers in a hostile new place. It was an undeniably harrowing experience for anyone. I hoped, for their sake, that the new arrivals wouldn't make the same rash judgments I had.

From within the dissipating fog came the sounds of life: a ragged cough, a pained grunt, and heavy panting. So, they were experiencing the same post-summoning shock.

But wait. Was that… only three distinct voices I heard?

The fog finally thinned, revealing the first figure. He was a young man in his early twenties, kneeling on the stone floor, dressed in an expensive-looking dark blue business suit. His neatly groomed black hair was slicked back with pomade, and a pair of sharp, intelligent-looking glasses rested on his nose. He had the air of a rising corporate executive, a facade utterly shattered by the blood spattered across his face and fine suit, and the handgun clutched in his trembling grasp. He coughed violently, his face a mask of agony, like a killer reeling from his own crime.

Shortly after, a second silhouette took form. This one was a woman—and a breathtakingly captivating one at that. She was sprawled on the floor, dressed in a seductive, nearly translucent negligee. Her lustrous, wavy black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her skin was smooth and lightly tanned. Her figure was flawless, a bombshell physique that could win any beauty pageant, with a stunning face that could charm any man. She was the picture of feminine perfection, save for two crucial details. Her negligee was flecked with crimson, and she was clutching a blood-soaked knife. The raw sensuality of her posture was twisted into something sinister, the aura of a devilish woman who had just slit a man’s throat. She moaned, hugging herself as if in terrible pain, the knife still gripped tightly in her hand.

The last one to emerge was a walking calamity. He was upright, but only because he was strapped to a heavy-duty transport dolly. The man was enormous, well over two meters tall, and bound in a multi-layered, gray straitjacket reinforced with a complex web of belts and latches. His long, unkempt, dark-gray hair was streaked with white, suggesting he was at least in his fifties, though it was impossible to be certain as his face was completely obscured by a heavy iron mask. His powerful, muscular limbs, like those of a professional wrestler, strained against his restraints, making him seem even more dangerous. To be in such a state, he must have committed some truly unspeakable acts. He was the very definition of a psychopath. The only visible feature of his face, his piercing blue eyes, darted manically from side to side. He wasn’t moaning, but a harsh, erratic panting echoed from beneath the iron mask.

What a collection. Forget heroes; these three practically screamed the word “criminal” at the top of their lungs.

Just as I concluded that the summoning was complete, another figure materialized from the last wisps of mist. I hadn't heard a single sound from that spot, hadn't sensed another presence at all.

This time, it was… another woman of stunning beauty. No, “stunning” was an understatement. “Goddess” was the only word that could adequately describe her magnificent appearance. She stood with an effortless grace that commanded my immediate awe. Her hair was a cascade of long, straight, silky strands of a brilliant orange-gold, so vibrant it seemed to possess its own inner light. And it did—it was actually glowing softly. Her skin was a flawless, pearlescent white, and her face was a sculpted masterpiece that would humble any artist. The contrast between her incandescent hair and her elegant, bluish-white gown was captivating. The woman and her attire were a perfect, divine combination. An appearance like that could throw any man’s mind into turmoil. If I were a normal man, my thoughts would have already melted into a reverent puddle.

Yet, there were no warning signs about this one. She didn’t look like a warrior, at least not the type to battle monsters head-on. Perhaps, I mused, she was summoned to serve as a morale booster.

I glanced at the King, who looked just as dumbfounded as everyone else. He caught my eye.

“Is this a ‘buy one, get four’ special?” I asked, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Congratulations on your four new Heroes, Your Majesty!”

“Four?” The King’s brow furrowed. He peered intently at the altar again, his eyes scanning the group. He turned back to me, his expression shifting from confusion to irritation. “Four? What are you talking about? From any angle, there are only three people there.”

“Pardon me?” What was wrong with his eyes? Had the shock finally addled his brain? “One, two, three, four,” I counted deliberately, pointing with my chin. There were, without a doubt, four individuals on the altar.

“Are you toying with me again?” the King snapped, his face a mask of anger, exasperation, and profound disappointment. “There are only three people there, no matter how you look! And while summoning three at once is unprecedented, all of them reek of wickedness!”

He was clearly furious at having summoned more potential failures. But more importantly, he genuinely couldn’t see the goddess-like woman.

…And as I thought about it, the most striking thing about her wasn't just her beauty. It was that she showed no signs of pain, no disorientation, none of the crushing weight that came with being summoned.

I turned my gaze back to her. Her perfect eyebrows were drawn together in a slight frown, and she was looking—more intently than at anyone else in the room—directly at me. Our eyes met.

The last of the mist cleared from the altar. And that’s when I noticed it.

She was floating.