Origin (formerly Long Beach Peninsula)
May 8th, 2073
“You?” Seth murmured, “You, murdered my father? You, you’re the Champion?”
“You’re a smart kid,” the caretaker said quietly, putting the symbol back in his pocket, “But I can’t give you this.”
Seth’s eyes widened as he felt anger burning deep within his chest. Who was this man to deny him anything? Good sense tried to reason within his mind, to still the fire in his heart, but seeing the symbol of his father had caused his rage to rise to the boiling point immediately, and learning that this man had killed his father, whom he’d only seen a few times but was still kind to him, was close to pushing him past the reverence he had for this place.
“I defeated him, yes, along with many others that claimed the title of ‘god’.” the caretaker said, “They decided I was a threat, and then decided to come for me in this place. But your father, he decided to fight me alone, with the last bit of honor he had left.”
“What do you know about honor?” Seth blurted out suddenly, “You murdered my father!”
“If that’s the way you want to see it then so be it,” the caretaker said, a white staff having suddenly appeared in his hands as he planted one end in the ground, leaning idly upon it as he looked almost bored.
“You think you’re the only one that can manifest weapons?” Seth sneered, feeling uncharacteristically cocky as he glared at the caretaker. Good sense had fled, it wanted nothing to do with what was about to happen.
“Don’t do it kid,” the caretaker said, “Your father is still technically alive as long as I hold this. Don’t join him.”
That was more than Seth could bear as he felt the power within his being flare, granting him strength as he felt the familiar haft of the weapon he’d spent decades mastering how to use form in his right hand, the solid grip comforting as the trident formed completely from the motes of light that he’d summoned with but a thought.
“My father will be avenge-” Seth frowned as he sought to finish the last word, but his mouth would no longer work as he suddenly realized he could no longer see the caretaker. What he did see was a statue that was rather curious. An angel wielding a sword and kneeling upon a rock, or perhaps something else, sat in front of him, only a few yards away. The statue’s expression was one of grief, or perhaps his mind was making that up. It didn’t matter however, in fact nothing really mattered any longer as he felt a sudden tug from within, the core of his being exiting his body as the Calling, that damnable fate to which all of his kind were relegated at times, began to draw him forward, upward, backward, sideways. Direction lost all meaning, as did time.
The only thing that mattered any longer was nothing at all, and soon, he couldn’t even remember that much.
* * *
The Creator sighed as its new avatar, this one a form that the caretaker had not seen before, spoke from the entrance to the graveyard.
“Was that necessary? He sought the remains of his father, nothing more.”
“And if any one of them comes back, the whole mess starts again and this world will need another ‘cleansing’ according to someone. He wasn’t ready for that, and neither am I.”
“Sooner or later your purpose will find you again,” the Creator said as the caretaker made his way from the cemetery. The Creator never even saw the strike that destroyed this avatar, but its annoyance was great as it could sense the caretaker walking off as though nothing had happened.