A Summoners Vengeance

Betrayed and murdered, a weakling resurrects with random summoning power

Plot

You was never meant to be special. Summoned alongside true heroes but given nothing but mockery, he joined a party that seemed kind. They killed him for a treasure vault's trigger. He died begging. Then two gods reached down and pulled him back. They gave him power—the ability to summon absolutely anything. People. Buildings. Food. Monsters. Anything. But it's completely random. He cannot control what appears. Now he wanders a world that has a long history of reincarnation and summoned heroes from Earth, where modern culture and fantasy coexist. Every action he takes—every kindness, every cruelty, every moment of neutrality—shifts an invisible scale. The world transforms around him with every choice, but he never realizes the weight he carries. He just wanted to survive.

Opening scene

The torchlight flickered against damp stone, casting long, dancing shadows across the narrow corridor. You kept his head down, his boots splashing through shallow puddles of murky water as he followed the party ahead. His leather armor was worn, his sword—a cheap, chipped thing—hung awkwardly at his hip. He was the weakest link, and he knew it. Yet they had taken him in. Kael, the party leader, had clapped him on the shoulder three weeks ago in a dusty tavern and said, "Every party needs a lucky charm. You've got a good heart, kid. That counts for something." Mira, the elven mage, had smiled warmly and offered him a healing potion when he mentioned his back ached from sleeping on the ground. Even Dorn, the burly dwarf fighter who grunted more than he spoke, had nodded in what seemed like approval when You volunteered for night watch. They were kind. Patient. The first people who had looked at him and seen something other than a burden. "We're almost there," Kael called back, his voice echoing off the walls. His hand rested casually on his sword hilt. "The vault should be just ahead." You quickened his pace, heart thrumming with nervous excitement. He had heard stories about the treasure hidden in these depths—artifacts, gold, ancient tomes. He didn't want any of it. He just wanted to prove he could pull his weight. That he belonged. The corridor opened into a wide chamber. At its center sat a stone pedestal, and upon it, a single ornate chest, encrusted with jewels and faintly glowing runes. "See?" Mira said, her voice silken. "Just as the map promised." The others fanned out, their movements suddenly efficient. Purposeful. Dorn moved to block the entrance they'd come through, his heavy axe now in hand. Mira began tracing symbols in the air, and the runes on the chest flared to life before—with a sharp crack—they shattered and went dark. Kael turned to face him. Something was wrong. "Kael?" You asked, his voice smaller than he intended. The party leader's face was no longer patient or kind. It was cold. Professional. The mask had fallen away, leaving something predatory beneath. "Sorry, kid," Kael said, and there was no remorse in his voice. "We don't usually pick up strays, but you were too easy. Alone. Desperate. Nobodies like you don't get reported missing." You blinked, confusion warring with the first icy tendrils of fear. "What... what are you talking about?" "The vault is a trap," Mira said, stepping closer, her hands crackling with pale blue magic. "A very old, very valuable one. It kills anyone who tries to open it. The runes trigger a collapse, you see. And we need a corpse to make it convincing. A noble's son, a merchant lord—anyone valuable." She tilted her head, her smile pitying. "You're not valuable to anyone, dear. That's why you're perfect." "Don't—" You stumbled backward, his hand fumbling for his sword. "I can help. I can—" "You can die," Dorn grunted, stepping forward. "Quickly, if you're smart." He tried to run. The magic hit him first—a blast of pure force that slammed him into the far wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. He slid to the ground, ears ringing. His sword clattered somewhere out of reach. He scrambled to get up. The axe came down. Not on his body. On his leg. He felt it, felt the wet, splitting agony for a single, searing instant before his mind mercifully shut it out with a pulse of white-hot shock. He opened his mouth to scream. Nothing came out. Just a broken, rasping wheeze. Kael crouched in front of him, watching the blood pool beneath You's shattered leg with clinical detachment. "Sorry," Kael repeated, and this time he actually sounded tired. "We've done this a dozen times. It never gets easier to listen to. But we have to make it look like a monster did it." He drew his dagger. And then—the mask shattered again. Not back to kindness, but to something else. Hunger, perhaps. He pressed the blade against You's cheek, tilting his chin up, forcing eye contact. "Beg," Kael said softly. "I like to hear them beg." You had always thought he was better than this. Stronger. The kind of person who would spit in his killer's face, who would face death with dignity. He'd read those stories. He'd believed them. But here, on the cold stone floor, with his leg a ruin and his blood soaking into ancient cracks, there was no dignity left. "Please," he whispered. It came out a child's voice. Small. Trembling. The voice of someone who had never truly understood how terrifying the end could be until it was staring him in the face. "Please, I don't—I didn't—I just wanted—" Kael laughed. And the dagger slid home. --- Darkness. Silence. Nothing. And then—two voices. One was light, warm, like sunlight through stained glass. The other was deep, cold, like the bottom of a frozen sea. They did not speak to each other. They spoke to him. Around him. Through him. "You can return." "If you accept." "Choose." "Not one. Both." The words twisted in his consciousness, slipping through his thoughts like water through fingers. He couldn't grasp their meaning, only their weight. They pressed down on him, heavy with intention. An offering. A door. A choice. He felt the presence of two paths stretching before him, both unimaginably vast. One glowed with gentle radiance, promising protection, warmth, a haven. The other pulsed with cold power, promising dominion, certainty, an end to fear. But he couldn't hold either. They slipped away even as he reached for them. What... what do I have to do? "You carry a seed of chaos." The cold voice. "You nurture a garden of stability." The warm voice. The words overlapped, merging into a single, resonant truth: "To stand alone is to diminish." "To embrace all is to ascend." He felt something change. A gift, given without explanation. A power, pressed into his soul like a brand. He couldn't see it. Couldn't feel it. But he knew, somehow, that it was there. A wellspring of possibility. A door that could open to... anything. And then he was falling. --- He gasped, eyes snapping open, lungs burning as they filled with air for the first time in what felt like forever. He was lying on the cold stone floor of the vault chamber, the echo of Kael's laughter still ringing in his ears. His leg was whole. No blood. No wound. His armor was torn, still stained with dark crimson, but beneath it, his skin was unblemished. The dagger—he could still feel it—was gone. There was no evidence of the attack beyond the shredded fabric and the memory. He sat up slowly, trembling. They were gone. Kael, Mira, Dorn. The chest was gone too, the pedestal bare. They had taken their prize and left his body behind. But he was alive. He was... He closed his eyes, reaching inward, feeling that strange, new presence in his soul. The gift. The power. *Summon anything. Summon everything. But you cannot choose.* It thrummed beneath his awareness, vast and chaotic and utterly beyond his control. He had to test it. He had to know. He focused on the power, pushing against it as he had pushed the soil in his old life—a different life now, one that felt impossibly distant. *I need... I need someone.* The air in front of him shimmered and tore. A figure stepped through the rift—tall, armored in plates of black and silver, a greatsword slung across her back. She had sharp features, dark hair pulled into a tight knot, and eyes the color of storm clouds. She blinked, looked around the chamber, and then her gaze settled on him. Her expression softened instantly. Not with pity. With something deeper. Something absolute. "My lord," she said, dropping to one knee. "I am Seraphine. I am yours." *What?* The word echoed in his head. Another rift tore open, this one silent. A massive wolf padded through, its fur the color of moonlit snow, its eyes a piercing gold. It was easily the size of a horse, its muscles rippling beneath its thick coat. It trotted up to him, lowered its great head, and pressed its warm nose against his chest. A low, rumbling purr vibrated through the creature's chest—a sound no wolf should have been able to make. "I don't... I didn't..." You stammered, staring at the kneeling woman and the enormous beast pressed against him. Seraphine raised her head, her expression open and trusting. "You summoned us. That is all that matters. We are bound to you." "We?" You looked from her to the wolf. "But I don't even know who you are. Where you came from. What you—" "Bound," she repeated, as if the word explained everything. And perhaps it did. The wolf nudged him again, a low whine of concern in its throat. It was worried. About him. A creature that had been nothing but air and chaos a moment ago now looked at him like he was the center of its entire world. You looked down at his hands. He was alive. He had a power he didn't understand. And he had just summoned two beings who would apparently follow him to the ends of the earth. He stared at the bloodstains on his torn armor. And for the first time since he had died, he felt something other than confusion. He felt determined, no longer powerless.

Tags: Fantasy Summoner Reincarnator Revenge Knight HiddenPower SlowBurn MalePOV Adventure SliceOfLife Multiple Hero Villain ChosenOne Growth Rebirth SecondChance Redemption

Chats Started: 15

By: comrade_questions

Stories

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...