Chapter 1: The Bear Gets Murked

"Forgive me my child for leaving you when you are so young. Your life is your own, yet through my idiocy that has been cast in doubt. You may grow for the rest of your life here, on this primative island never knowing the beauty of civilization. I refuse to allow that, and thus I have spent every waking moment before the sickness claims me teaching you to read, and writing all the secret knowledge I have collected in my long life. The recipe for Sailor, Hunter, Savant, and the recipes for Savant up until sequence 6—which you are not to share unless sure your identity is secure—and Bard." Alastor Belial's Journal Pg.1

The small boy moved through the forest as if it was his home. In a way it was, he had grown up on this remote island. Alone for nearly two years, only able to keep himself clean with ocean water, and only able to feed himself through sheer human desperation. Traps were easy, placing a small bit of food between two rocks and having the larger stone slip if the food it touched. 

Of course he would use basic snares made from scraps of his father's old clothes, or some of the rope his father scavenged from their shipwreck. He killed deer and turned their corpses into bags using the bones of rabbits as needles, and hemp as string. Honestly for a 5 year old he was doing unreasonably well. Still he was just a child skulking through the underbrush. 

Thoughts of home, of large buildings of concrete and glass. Thoughts of a cell phone he could listen to music on or read a book. The gentle monotony of the modern day, but no. Reincarnation couldn't even allow him civilization no matter what form. Crowly dreamed of returning to a city, even just Backlund spoken of in a novel he read a life ago, and his father's journal. 

It spoke of a city of lights and fog, of disgusting air but the best people in the world. He spoke of friends and his life as an official beyonder before he discovered the acting method. In an attempt to fully digest his previously drunk Archeologist potion he grabbed his pregnant wife and brought her on a sea voyage to this island. There are apparently some ancient temple at the center of this island, but neither Crowly nor his father had managed to find it. 

Still he took in the forest for it's majesty. Towering trees of all different shapes and sizes, birch and pine, redwoods and brilliant white trunks that seemed to glow in the light of dawn. Wreathed in a brilliant ocean of emerald leaves seemingly that moved with him. Crowly was a part of this jungle, and in his time here he had come to respect it. 

He learned the hunting grounds for the Giant Grey Wolf, and the bears. Learned the best paths for elk and deer, he even knows where the rabbits hide. Still he walked through the brush, a silent observer eyes shard and studying this world. Leaning behind a large red wood nearly twice as wide as his shelter, and peaked around the corner. 

A mountain of black fur, and beady eyes staring straight at him. Crowly would have flinched if this wasn't just part of the plan. Stepping out from behind the tree the boy screamed at the top of his lungs and started throwing rocks at the bear. This of course angered the bear, as heralded by the terrible scream that followed his escape. 

He wasn't yet a hunter, but a little pre-acting never hurt anybody. So he provoked the bear and ran, ran through the forest over the fallen dead tree that would slow the bear for half a second. Down the hill building momentum alongside his pursuer before he felt two length of wood he had prepared. 

Sprinting across the wooden struts as far as he dared he leapt forward

His small body sent flying. 

Landing face with a harsh thud he scrambled backwards. Flipped over only to see the mountain of wrath sprint down the mountain straight towards him. 

"Jackpot," he smiled wide, showing a gap-toothed smile as the bear sprinted into his trap. The sticks snapped under the hundreds of pounds of bear and took with it the fake cover of leaves. Falling straight down onto a bed of spikes the bear's scream was mournful even as it tried to fight it's way out. 

It wouldn't be able to, that hole was far larger than it needed to be. Honestly it had been a waste of time and effort, but Crowly had decided he needed a bear skin blanket. Come to daddy! Daddy needs a new pair of boots! Those claws! Sharpening them into arrow heads would be easy! Speaking of arrow he reached for the bow slung across his back and drew an arrow.

A hunter tries to end his prey in a quick merciful manner. A good kill is a swift and silent one. This was either.

Twack! 

Thwack!

ROAR! Another bear screamed barreling through a bush. Fear coiled in Crowly's gut as he sprinted leaping up and grasping the lowest branch before swinging himself up. His gaze swept the clearing and he saw it. A cub, he was killing a mother. His hands shook as he perched himself on the branch. 

Steadying himself he half leaned on the trunk and drew another arrow, his aim was shaky, and barly missed the charging cub. As the bear reached the bottom of his tree he gaped as it started CLIMBING up after him! 

His heart raced, but he calmed himself. Crowly forced his consciousness to a point, a razor's edge that decides life and death. Drawing the arrow he shot down into the beast's open roaring mouth. It choked, screamed nearly fell but kept fucking moving. In two steps the young hunter was on the edge of his branch leaping as far as he could, arms raised high.

Catching another branch like a monkey bar he tried to pull himself up, he silently mourned he was born a Sequence 9 Savant instead of a Hunter and fell, barely catching himself on hands and knees as he hit the ground. Adrenaline had him moving, throwing himself into a sprint that evened out into a jog.

Humans are persistence hunters after all. So he ran ran until he felt safe and peeked over his shoulder. The cub was stumbling after him drawing in it's own blood. His sensibilities screamed at him, and he grimaced as he drew another arrow. Mercy to the suffering.

The cub fell dead; an arrow through his eye. Crowly's smile grew as he got closer to the cub, and laughed in joy, the perfect size for a onesie! That would keep him warm, and help him blend in with trees better than his naturally caucasian persuasion. 

Crowly felt something click into place, almost. Some energy drawn from his grand act of murder, he had felt the same sensation many times. Whenever he did something impressive this energy came like a wave, soothed his wounds healed and strengthened him slightly. 

His cheat, golden finger if he was to use Zhou Mingrui's culture's term. This time though it was different, as if he had reached some barrier and needed something larger to push him through. 

So he dragged the cub back to his mother. The bear had half climbed out of the pit, but seeing it's child's corpse it roared, and began to fight with a new vigor. That vigor died quickly and did it as the barrier shattered.

So did Crowley.

Suddenly there were two, the boy bifurcated and healed. Soul cut in half and regenerated like a cell through mitosis. There was some indestructible connection between his bodies, but they were distinctly different. One's thoughts were clear like a spring with a perfect memory, the other was normal. 

No beyonder powers. There was something great hidden in that seemingly advantageous thing, but that didn't matter for now. Both bodies silently nodded to each other and worked in perfect unison stringing up the bear and stripping it of everything valuable. Bones were taken to be made into makeshift armor, arrowheads, and a nicer knife. 

The claws were taken for more arrow heads, you can never have enough after all. He took the best cuts of meat he could manage, all the while skinning it with exceptional skill. Being a Savant means you can perfectly remember every single tutorial video you have ever watched frame by frame, and even though the pathless body wasn't a Savant it kept the skills of the main body.

Did that mean skill was shared between bodies, or this body was this good because it was a clone of the main and thus had the muscle memory. 

"Your stupid," The savant rolled his eyes, "Muscle memory isn't stored in the muscles, it's stored in your mind!"

"Well fuck you!" The peasant mortal shouted under the pitying gaze of his other body. Hearing that thought the "peasant mortal" nearly flung himself over there for a little. . . percussive maintenance. 

Trekking back towards their home the Savant stared into the woods for a second. Then he asked slowly, "If you aren't a Savant. . . can you drink another potion?"

"I'm willing to test it with Hunter, but the better question is" The future hunter spoke, "If one of us dies what happens to the other?" 

Both had the same thought, it didn't matter. They weren't different people, they were the same person controlling multiple bodies. If one died he would simply only have the other, and could slowly get more of that energy to generate another body.

The Savant chewed his lip, and eventually declared, "I'm eating Dad's characteristic, it's our only way off this island."

The hunter glanced over concerned, "You could die, or go mad. If one of us goes mad will the other?"

He rolled his eyes, "I'm not fucking omnisient, maybe. . ." 

The conversation petered out until, "If I start losing control. . . kill me."

I won't lose too much, just myself. The quote bounced around their heads, and their respect for Klein grew. To become a god in 3 years, and stand toe to toe with the Celestial Worthy.

Home was a small wooden cottage with a leatherbound journal on a table, a black quill, an empty ink pot, and a small bed in one corner. Lined against the walls were a few trinkets, the skull of his first deer, antlers, a few dozen arrows, a spear leaned against one wall and a bone knife under his pillow. Leaned up on the side of his bedframe sat a crude ax made from a sharpened flint connected to a thick stick. 

On the ground in a corner sat a single golden orb. The savant stared at his clone with complex eyes before kneeling to the ground. He didn't know how to make a boat, this was one of his only chances to ever escape this island. To be an Artisan he would be able to make nearly anything.

He would eat this characteristic, become an Artisan and create the best boat to escape to freedom. 

"No," the hunter interjected, "If we're doing this we're doing it right."

The savant nodded and fell into a meditation pose. Over the course of an hour he centered himself, sharpened his will to a point and opened his eyes. Nodding he raised the golden Artisan characteristic to his lips. It was the size of his small fist, and barley fit in his mouth before it dissolved. 

Then there was a screaming, and the clicking of infinite gears. The scream of great steam engines, and the voice of his father screaming his love through the noise. Crowly stitched as his clone watched. Flesh seeming to bubble slightly, drawing an arrow the hunter waited. Maddening roars reached his ears, and he fell into a great maching as his bones were crushed between the gears. 

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Bones shattered and reformed, as he writhed as if worms were digging through his skin. They replaced his veins as they gained a mind of their own and started to consume. He felt something, some primordial divine will but only a spark. No, an illusion of a understanding. 

Crowly bashed his head backwards against the wood of the cabin, and the hunter threw the bow to the side. Soon he too fell to the ground and entered a meditation pose. He opened his mind and soul to the madness, and felt his main body's torment. Shared in it, and felt tears slowly fall from his eyes. 

Those tears were mirrored in blood on the main body. 

There is a reason you use supplemental ingredients and eat potions one at a time. That loss of control crept ever nearer, closer and closer until he was sure he was going to die. He was sure that the madding roars would never end and he would never know peace from it. Then he felt it, the fragment of his father's will still in the potion.

Then there was darkness.