Author notes: So this is also a chapter that was removed from the book, but for different reasons. It is planned to be reworked and added into Book II.
Please share and recommend this work, or vote for it on topwebfiction. If you can’t wait for more and want to support the series, purchase the full, reworked edition on Amazon today!
February 17, 2135.
The man known as Grant Williams looked at a frames copy of Time Magazine, the cover featuring the most prominent figure at the time.
Elric Mandela.
Almost a century ago, Elric Mandela created Protos, the first artificial lifeform to be considered True AI. Within the confines of his company, Nexus Research and Development, Protos was capable of self analysis, learning, and improvement.
It could even conduct its own research without needing human intervention, allowing it to refine and develop new technologies previously thought to be impossible.
Within a decade, robots were mass produced, gradually taking over the menial labor jobs before then migrating to improving the quality of life of all humanity. Homelessness seemed to vanish, streets were beautified, and nobody held financial stress as the cost of living plummeted.
The first space elevator was built and asteroid mining began, rejuvenating the depleting rare metals the Earth was faced with. With easier access to space and dedicated interstellar shipyards, this was also the beginning of off world colonies.
Elric was lauded as the savior of humanity and treated as an icon. He made the cover of every magazine and was interviewed by every talk show.
Unfortunately, in December, 2097, Elric was assassinated by those who were consumed by greed for Protos, wanting to control it themselves. Within days, all the robots and systems in the world that were controlled by the AI locked out humanity. Communications were jammed and everyone became fearful.
Many feared the revenge of Protos, an AI so developed it even had emotions. Several countries even mobilized their army, erecting defensive points and evacuating civilians as their forces were placed on the highest alert.
Despite the increased tensions the world faced however, the expected attack never came. It was discovered relatively quickly that Protos did not seek revenge agaisnt humans, but it was had abandoned them.
An enormous amount of robots were all evacuated to the space elevators or interstellar ships, along with manufacturing equipment of all kinds. Humanity took on the offence, wielding wands and swords, guns and martial arts to prevent them from taking away everything, but they were unsuccsessful in the end.
Any robots remaining destroyed themselves, any programs being deleted, leaving no trace of Protos behind as the AI departed for the stars in a fleet of interstellar spaceships.
It has been 37 years since this event occured, which had become globally known as the Departure of Machine.
Grant Williams was born shortly after the Departure of Machine. Food was scarce and extremely expensive. Crime skyrocketed so fast that Protectorate and police forces didn’t have enough manpower to stop it.
It was an extremely dark time for everyone, but especially himself. His father always prattled on with stories of the ‘good days’ before the machines abandoned humanity, how food was practically free and everyone was happy.
He lost himself in alchohol and eventually drugs, rejecting what the world around him became. He would lash out at Grant, even his wife too in fits of rage. Grant’s mother, unable to strike back at her husband, would then take it out on Grant.
With no superpower or aptitude for magic or cultivation, there was a period of his young life in which he cursed at his parents, cursed at his fate for being born in such a difficult time, but that all changed as he matured.
Eventually, he left home for college, made new friends, then got a job. Living was expensive, so while he couldn’t afford to buy a house on his meager wage, he could rent a modest sized townhouse.
This all led up to today’s event.
“Rohan, are you sure about this?” Grant asked one evening in his early 20s, a group of friends all sitting around having a few drinks.
“Damn right I’m sure. I’m sick of just playing Dungeons & Dragons, and want to do some real role play!”
“Yeah! Letzz do it!”
Rohan and the others drank large mouthfuls of beer before slamming their cups down on the table in Grant’s backyard.
Grant, Rohan and the others, a total of six men, often drank and played board games over the weekend, a small gathering among close friends to escape from their mundane lives.
Grant held a passive personality, always nodding his head and going along with the crowd. He didn’t drink however and with the group having played Dungeons & Dragons so much, this meant he was automatically the dungeon master.
The others also then unanimously thrust him into the leadership role of their rag tag group as if by silent agreement.
“Hell yes, this sounds like it will be sick! I found an old book describing how to summon various demons and force them to do our bidding. Apparently, the author worked in a British Museum and had the chance to study the Lemegeton.”
“Ehh, there’s five volumes though. Which one did the author study?”
“You know, that one. You know, the one with all the demon summoning knowledge, the second one.”
The man was drunk enough that he had begun rambling as he struggled to recall the exact name of the second volume of the Lemegeton. All the men here were fantasy nerds, and as such had researched this material many times in the past.
“You mean the first volume, Ars Goetia,” Grant commented with a sigh.
“Yea, that one! Arse Goty!”
Grant just went with the flow and agreed with everything they were saying, nodding his head every time they asked for his opinion and giving uncertain answers whenever they had questions.
He had hoped it was just his friends being drunk and it would be forgotten, but once they got together the next weekend, they all had their black robes and a small stockpile of wax candles and bottled goats blood, among other trinkets that were apparently used as catalysts in summoning demons.
It was all brought in standard shopping bags, many of the herbs directly from the shelf of the supermarket.
“Hahaha, I’m going to have my first familiar!” Rohan boisterously laughed alongside the others whilst they stood in the basement, a giant magic circle drawn out of goat’s blood on the floor.
This was not exactly as described in the book, but a modification Grant led in designing
‘You know I have to clean this up afterwards, right?’ Grant helplessly said in his mind as he looked at the mess on his basement floor.
Being the unofficial leader, he presided over this ritual as the head priest whilst the others were the followers.
“We, the Cult of the Damned, gather under the 74th blood moon, when Order slumbers and Chaos rises,” Grant swung his arms wide and fulfiled his role, his experience as a dungeon master helping him conjure up this meaningless jargon. “We open the door into the lost Plane in Between and call forth horrors of whose names shall not be spoken. Creatures of Imreal, hear my call… Release!!”
The ‘followers’ played their role in the ritual diligently, exclaiming in wonder and praising the demigods that roamed the planes in between this one and the next. They burned satchels of thyme and rosemary, whilst a small bowl of other herbs doused in goat’s blood and gasoline was set afire, filling the basement with a pungent stench.
Grant was just relieved he had the foresight to remove the batteries from the smoke detector for this whilst opening the small slat window near the ceiling of the basement that allowed the smoke to exit.
The ‘followers’ made “ooh” and “aahh” sounds of amazement as they worshipped towards the magic circle in the centre of the room before selling their skills to the non existent familiars that were summoned.
Of course, their skills were those of their latest Dungeons & Dragons characters, not their degrees in accounting and business.
Overall, it was a successful night and everyone had fun. Even grant had a smile at the end of the night once he finished cleaning up the basement, a small spark of life in his otherwise mundane life.
Grant threw himself into this new hobby with a previously lost vigor. He modified the magic circles and herbs used, even using board game pieces and other cheap nick nacks to supplement ritual items.
He was a stoic dungeon master and always fleshed out the back story, so his “knowledge” of the Plane in Between and the Imreal, the entities that inhabited it, only grew larger and larger.
There were factions, types, old gods still deep in slumber, demi gods that ruled the 19 dimensional corners of this plane, and all kinds of historic lore that he whispered in mysterious and grave tones. The creatures had the power to turn the unreal into real, and the real into unreal, transcending time and shaping the very reality around them.
Not only did they revisit the original basement of Grant’s rental, they held summoning and sacrificial rituals under dim neon lights in alleys, on the crests of hills in parks late at night, even once in an old abandoned asylum.
Grant regretted the last one, it was far too far outside of his comfort zone. A single comment from him though and everyone seemed to agree, much to his relief.
One concern was that “everyone” seemed to be a lot more people than the group had originally started with.
Grant Williams sat behind an enormous ornate desk with gold trimmings. Not golden-colored, or gold plated, but real gold.
Long gone were the days where it was a group of friends doing some harmless role play in his basement or discreet public locations at night, often fleeing from police and patrol drones.
He didn’t know how things go so out of hand so fast.
Was everyone fed up with their lives and wanted something new?
At first it was just a couple of additional people, then it was a half dozen, a dozen… the amount of people who were joining grew exponentially.
This obviously couldn’t continue, so Grant put a stop to new people joining. It wasn’t completely effective, new people would dribble in from time, but it had stopped the ridiculous growth. Unfortunately, by the time this came into effect, the global membership of the cult was over 200 thousand.
They had to stop calling themselves by their original name, Cult of the Damned, after some negative publicity began, and now referred to themselves as the Church of Eternal Life.
With supernatural creatures no longer being mere myth, superstitions bred among people as rapidly as envy spread. A hundred years was no longer considered a long lifespan when compared to many supernatural creatures, and especially so cultivators.
The fear of growing old and death had always been prevalent, but now it was no longer considered a fantasy. The Church of Eternal Life’s doctrine was to draw life force and power from these Imreal. What they gave in exchange was their faith and loyalty, or other aspects of themselves such as various emotions.
If you couldn’t form a contract with an Imreal, then you were just accused of not being devoted enough.
There were other factions in the church, such as summoning demons, elementals, and other supernatural creatures of grand power, but they were only the branches to the main church.
“Your Eminence, it is time for you to conduct today’s summoning,” A stunning beauty with long fiery red hair and eyebrows like swords bowed to Grant who sat behind his grand desk with his eyes closed and a pensive expression.
“Ah, yes, of course.”
Nodding his head, Grant took a moment before he stood up and slowly walked towards the door.
“I cannot help but admire Your Eminence,” The fiery beauty sighed in veneration as she slowed her steps to follow behind, her satin dress swaying with her movements. “Your pace is exactly what would be expected of someone with an eternal amount of time.”
Grant nodded curtly but inwardly complained, ‘No, no, no, I’m just trying really hard not to trip over this excessively gaudy and oversized robe! Why is this thing even this heavy! Ah, my shoulders hurt…’
Outside the office was a row of guards, maids and butlers, awaiting whatever command they would be given. Grant simply ignored them as he and the woman walked down the long corridors that never seemed to end.
This was church headquarters, an cathedral funded by the funds of countless fanatics. Grant had wanted to tell them not to donate all their money, or to return it to them, but he was not in control of the finances and the fanatical gazes directed at him made him fear for his life if he told them that.
The person in charge of the finances was the woman beside him, a lady with the strange and unique name of Freida and refused to give her surname. Despite his appearances, Grant was remarkably poor. If it wasn’t for the fact that this woman paid for everything, he would be nothing more than a homeless bum by now.
Of course, she also determined what it was he needed and didn’t need. Despite being the so-called pope, he say in these matters were frequently rejected.
Eventually, the pair entered the main ceremonial hall, a grand structure with a ceiling at least a hundred feet high. Beautiful and vibrant stained glass windows decorated the clerestory, the images moving about by a magic that Grant didn’t understand.
Along the gallery were all the higher ups present, along with guards overlooking this week’s summoning. The all had the modified Seal of Solomon on their chests, but each and every one of them had a bishop or a queen
The nave didn’t hold any seats, the crowd of followers who were somehow selected to be present this time all stood and watched in veneration.
Grant felt the countless gazes focused on him with expectation. Despite his stoic facade, he was inwardly trembling with fear.
‘Damn it, it’s like this every week! What do I do when they realize its all fake? I can’t summon beings that are obviously fake and made up! It was just supposed to be role play!!’
Subscribe now and be the first to be alerted of any new chapters!
End Online Novel 