AN: Hello there! So anyway, this is mostly to help soothe my writers block, so don't expect it to update regularly, since I'm focusing on Rosario's and Phantasm's as well as Lunar Moon.
I'm also using this story to get a feel of writing OC's with different personalities. It hasn't quite gotten there yet, but hey, it's a prologue chapter!
Tell me what you think okay?!
An Island in the midst of thousands of others, it was a small, unimpressive and most of all normal island.
This is where our story starts.
On that island, there was a village, one of several. Actually, to call it a village was flattering it; the place consisted of no more than a few wooden huts.
The residents were dark, tanned folk. Not black, nor white, they were the ones in between. Each of them dressed in tribal clothing with strange, fascinating patterns weaved on them.
It was the kind of place that could make you feel like you had gone back in time. There wasn't a trace of modern civilization anywhere.
Inside that village there was a small school, one set up so the residents wouldn't be that cut-off from society, and one that help them improve their lives bit-by-bit. If the school hadn't existed, the island may have indeed gone back in time, in an almost literal sense.
"Teacher!"
The teacher turned to look at the one calling him. The man was a missionary in his mid-forties who had taken up this job because of a strong sense of responsibility.
"What is it, Dimalanta?"
"The others are picking on Abutin again!"
The teacher sighed. Not again, he thought.
Abutin was an unusual child and a bit of a problematic case for him.
He was an orphan, his mother died of disease while his father died next when he was caught in a storm while fishing. He had just turned eight when his father died, his birthday being October eight. It was a sad event, and one that left him permanently changed.
Whereas he had been a bright, inquisitive boy after the accident he had tried his best to stay cheerful, but his thinking had become erratic and dangerous.
He had once tried to eat animals raw when he had become hungry; he had taken too tempting the wild dogs in the forest and tried doing other dangerous stunts.
Worse still, was that he had taken to hanging out in that lunatics house.
Said lunatic was a decrepit old man, one who ranted on endlessly about gods and chaos and destruction. Of course, the teacher new that such beings existed, in this world where the Campione walked and Heretic Gods caused chaos, but what made the man a lunatic was about how he spouted to be a "prophet of the gods" of the pantheon. It irked the people to no end.
Soon after Abutin's parents had died, he had started listening to the lunatic more and more, and then once he had turned ten, the boy and the lunatic started having private conversations together. This of course had not gone unnoticed by the local populace, who decided it was best to avoid him.
Naturally the children took this as an excuse to bully him. When he had arrived the boy was eleven, and the bullying cases sometimes resulted in near death incidents, such as the time when they had nearly drowned him. After that, the teacher had taken it upon himself to raise and guard him.
Abutin was twelve now and the bullying had eased up, but they still happened occasionally.
Sighing, the teacher got up and told Dimalanta to lead the way.
Soon enough, they had reached the beach, where the boys where throwing sand and rocks at Abutin. For his part, Abutin did what he usually did; ignore them.
It was a strange and eerie thing. Abutin could ignore, no matter what insults, injuries, or misfortune fell upon him, even if it was fatal. It could be called being mature, but this attitude had nearly gotten him killed several times.
"Boy's stop this at once!" shouted the teacher.
Seeing him approach, the boys scattered, leaving Abutin alone with Dimalanta and the teacher.
"Thank you for telling me about this Dimalanta, you may go now." He said to the child.
"Okay!"
The teacher walked over to Abutin, who simply stood there, staring at the sea.
"Abutin, are you alright?" the teacher asked. The boy was covered in bruises, and sand caked his skin.
Abutin turned his head slowly towards him, "I'm fine teacher, really, and it doesn't hurt at all!"
The teacher couldn't tell if he was lying. The boy had shrugged of worse before, but none of them had ever once bothered to check if he was affected by it. He would succumb to his wounds if they were grievous enough, but no-one had asked whether he actually felt pain.
The teacher had once contemplated taking him away from the island, and when he shared the idea with Abutin, he vehemently opposed the idea, saying over and over again, "He's waiting for me, and I'm waiting for him. We'll settle it soon!"
He had no-idea who 'he' was, but any further thoughts on taking him away from the island where no-longer entertained.
"We might as well take care of them anyway, come, Abutin." said the teacher.
"No, it's time, I'll wait here," was Abutin's response. The boy was grinning in a savage and disconcerting way.
"Who's here?" asked the teacher, who was suddenly very afraid,
"Amanikable."
"The deity of the sea?"
Abutin shook his head, "No, not some sea deity, just papa's killer."
There was a period of silence as the teacher digested what he had said. What on earth was he talking about?
"Teacher, can you wait for me at the village, I swear I'll be back soon," requested the twelve-year-old as he turned his head towards him.
"Why?
"There's a storm coming," he said simply.
The teacher was confused. The sky was clear with no sign of a storm anywhere.
"Please teacher, for me?" he said pleadingly, looking up at him with big, black eyes.
The teacher smiled and ruffled his hair, "Okay fine, but don't stay out too long, or you might get caught in the storm too."
"I don't plan to get caught in the storm, teacher, I plan to catch it for myself."
The teacher was more confused than ever.
The storm had come unexpected and devastating; it was all the villagers could do to retreat to higher grounds.
"Dimalanta, have you seen Abutin?!" the teacher shouted over the din.
"No teacher!"
Had the boy still not left the beach? Such a thought was terrible to imagine. If he was still there, he would have been torn to shreds!
As he was panicking over the state of Abutin and where he could be, he caught sight of the village lunatic going against the storm and proceeding towards the beach.
The teacher walked up to him, caught by a sudden surge of suspicion, "You! What do you know about this!"
The lunatic looked confused. "About what?"
"This!" the teacher shouted spreading his arm upwards and gesturing towards the storm.
Suddenly, the lunatic smiled, "Aaaaah, you wonder what is going on, no? Do not worry, it is simply young Abutin grabbing the reigns of his destiny."
"What do you mean!?"
"I was about to go to the beach, if you are curious as to what I talk about, why not follow?"
And so, against his better judgment, the teacher followed the lunatic to the beach, growing ever fearful of what he might find.
When they did get to the location, none of his fears or suspicions could have prepared him for what he saw.
There, on the beach head, was a man, no, an entity. It's very being symbolized the sea; he could feel the powerful waves rush to and fro in his muscles and feel the storms gathered in his eyes. The teacher knew instinctively what he was and that he had caused the storm.
A Heretic God.
Creatures that tower above humans, things that change landscapes at their whims and hold powers beyond the imaginations of the common man, creatures that could only be stopped by similar beings, such as the Campione.
Upon closer inspection, the Heretic God appeared to be wrestling. It's muscles standing out with the effort.
"But how is that possible? The only things that can stand up to a Heretic God are other Heretic Gods, or Campione, and the closest Campione is in Japan . . . "
Who was keeping him at bay?
"Don't look so confused, it should be obvious who would fight him. After all, did you not come here to see him?" said the lunatic.
With a start of realization, the teacher realized who exactly was wrestling the Heretic God.
It was little Abutin.
"Abutin!" he called out, only to be pulled back by the lunatic.
"Don't disturb them you fool!" he hissed. "This is between them."
"What are you talking about!? That's a Heretic God, Abutin will be killed!"
"Does he look dead to you, Teacher?" he said, pointing towards were the two where wrestling.
Indeed as he looked, Abutin was putting up a tremendous fight, neither fighter willing to give ground to the other. The pushed, shoved, punched, kicked head-butted and bit, but neither of them would fall. The Heretic God had even called upon the power of the sea to aid him in this fight, using the storm to throw things at the child, who dodged them in spite of the strong winds.
"But that's . . ."
"Impossible? Tell me, to do the impossible and defeat a Heretic God; does that not remind you of anything?"
It did.
"Campione . . ."
"Little Abutin is not aspiring to be a Campione, this battle is merely a boy getting revenge for his father. The two that fight now are merely debt and collector. This, I think, is why Abutin can fight so evenly with him. Were it anyone else, they would have long since perished.
But this is simply the beginning of his destiny. He will change after this, and he will do great things, I feel proud that I could help him achieve that much."
And with that, the lunatic walked away from the teacher, who stared in awe as the little slip of a boy who had once been his student, flipped the Heretic God Amanikable over his shoulders, and unto the ground.
The Heretic God did not rise.
Panting and kneeling on the floor of the beach, the young boy, no, Campione rose up, his face sweltering with triumph.
His cry of victory could be heard from across the earth, and the land underneath him trembled as they accepted the presence of His Majesty, The Eight Campione.
