Vestige was a cat – a sly, devilish cat that would resort to chasing any mouse that dared to cross his path, no matter how small that poor, innocent mouse may be. Big mice, small mice, skinny mice, innocuous mice... He would stop his day to day routine and swipe his paws at them, and before he left them to breathe out their spirits, he'd throttle them one last time, just for the hell of it, because that was who he was, that was what they programmed him to be.
So just when he thought he would leave Draconi Forest for good (to never, ever come back), that's when he heard it: another prayer. This prayer, unlike the one he had heard some time ago, was mellifluous in tune. If prayers wore shoes, this one would wear unassuming Mary Janes with ribbons fixed upon its heels.
He should've ignored it – like he did with ninety five percent of most prayers he heard on a daily basis. Most prayers were, in fact, silly little hopes that most people knew – deep down in their wretched little hearts – wouldn't come true anyway. Most people prayed just to relieve them from a stress that nothing else could ease. And yet, this prayer – so soft and innocent it was – did not seem... well, human to him. It was unnaturally pure, an exceptional magic user, or a powerful being, or someone who was almost godlike in nature.
Godlike.
That set off his radar, caused him to cease his running, wearing out the soles of his ragged, cumbersome combat boots while he attempted to change his peace. He did an almost literal one eighty, kicking up dirt and dusty as he twisted his body, heading towards the sound of that prayer, that nearly godlike prayer. At the same time, he was feeling like an idiot – he had been stupid enough to almost pass up hunting down a god, and to top it all off, the god had been praying, practically sending out a signal without even knowing it, and still, he had almost passed up this chance.
The god had almost walked free. Almost, but not quite.
He was a cat, after all – a cat that would not let any threat walk free, even the most unblemished of beings – if they were still gods (if they were still mice) then Vestige, as programmed, would pounce. He stalked his way through the forest without any sense of stealth. From a mile away, anyone could've heard him coming, could've felt his onslaught approaching. He stormed through the forest in a flash of furious red, and to anyone else in the area, he may as well have been the devil, prowling through their home. And perhaps he was a devil – he would not refuse the title, but devil as he was, there was one thing in this world he could not stand, one thing in this world he could not let walk free...
Gods.
The artificial god came across her – the innocuous god – and felt his whole body tense. He did not stop to think why this god would bother to pray to another god, but at the moment, it was a trivial thought. What wasn't a trivial thought, one that wracked his whole mind, was the fact that this god was a girl. It did not support the idea of gods he had in his head – and of the gods he had met in the past. They were big, sprawling things that abused humans with their absolute power – he knew that for a fact! But it was always so infuriating, to meet one that looked as if she broke the mold!
Looks could be deceiving.
She had been kneeling by the small pond, praying, and had asked, "Do you even hear me anymore, Father? Does anyone?"
He laughed a little – a bitter laugh tinted by all the abuse his title and origins had given him throughout the years before his escape. In the palm of his right hand, out of thin air, he forged a ball of flames, one that appeared to lick and tease his flesh, but despite it, Vestige seemed calm. It was a predatory stance he took, with a predator's gaze haunting in his eye.
"I'd ask what a god was doing praying to the gods," he laughed, "but I'll be glad to answer your question for you." Because he was such a gentleman after all, wasn't he? "The gods don't hear you – even if they could, they wouldn't answer. The only one left to answer prayers is me." He was arrogant and conceited, a fool and philosopher, but whether what Vestige said was true or not, what mattered was that he believed it to be true. What probably mattered even more was that he was in a mood – that mood anyone gets when they find the thing they can't stand the most living right in their backyard. And so, here he was – the exterminator.
