The Beginning at my Death

"Do you accept responsibility of the Soul Monarch's artifact? Do you promise to uphold the principles of the one true necromancer? Do you swear fealty to this artifact, and vow never to uptake another?"

"I do."

"Then from this moment forth, you shall be my master. I give to you everything. And in exchange... I shall one day take everything back."

*

Perhaps we might've gotten a little too ahead of ourselves. To understand what is currently going on, we have to go back to this morning. To a time before I became the Soul Monarch, to before I gained the codex.

My name is Caspian, the 113th holder of the Soul Monarch's codex... and this is my story.

***

"Next!" shouted a knight, prompting the next kid lined up in front of the church to walk in.

Today was Ascension Day, the day every kid of age got their artifact and became an adult. Usually, this would be done in private sessions, out of the eyes of the public. The nature of one's artifact was their most important secret, but as an orphan Caspian had no choice.

Not that he minded though, so long as he got the chance to become a working member of society... a successful and very wealthy member of society, he would be willing to expose anything.

Most of the new 'adults' who had emerged, had gotten base augmenter-type artifacts. Artifacts that only enhanced one's body, allowing them to perform 'super-human' feats. Sadly, these were mostly useless.

In a world where walking natural disasters filled the top positions, there was no need for someone who was 'only' superhuman, as being superhuman was now the norm.

"Next!"

Those who had gotten their artifacts began to crowd in front of a recruiter, someone who was offering them jobs in manual labor. They would go to mines, mana farms, and the like. They were in fact about to sign themselves into slavery, but they already knew that.

The curriculum they had gone through did not try to cover it up, the church was extremely honest when it came to life after this. Everyone knew that getting a crappy artifact meant a crappy life. And for most of them, it was inevitable.

Artifact types were hereditary, and the sad truth for most orphans is that their parents had been too poor to take care of them, so in effect, they were the spawn of the dregs of society.

"Next!"

~Anything, even base-augmenter, no, even base-emitter. Anything, please,~ Caspian begged, as he slowly got to the front of the line.

Of course, there were some who got nothing. Some people were destined to be at the true bottom, the artifactless, commonly known as the artless.

It was understood that you were useless if you did not have an artifact, after all, what type of work could you do?

Oh, you have a brilliant mind? Tough luck, there are thousands of people with those.

You're a hard worker? Well, could you work as hard as someone that can carry a 150kg rock half asleep?

Perhaps you have an indomitable spirit? Will that help the country win wars? Will your spirit not melt at the feet of a pyromancer? And even if it is truly indomitable, it means nothing in the face of a walking earthquake.

"Next!"

Caspian finally got to the front of the line. As he entered the church he took in the scenery. A ritual circle had been drawn at the center of the nave. Five statues stood over the ritual circle, representing the five artifact patrons, the first arcanists.

Gladues, the Elementalist... patriarch of all elemental-type artifacts. Othros, the Wise... creator of all utility-type artifacts. Argonon, the Mighty... considered the source of all transformation-type artifacts. Meriam the God of life... priestess of all healing-type artifacts. And finally, Pagan, the Radiant... benefactor of radiant-type artifacts, the church's most revered arcanist.

They were the first to gain artifacts and were considered gods.

"Oh forebearers, bless this child. Give unto him your gifts, so that he may live a life worthy of one of your descendants," the priest said in a bored practiced manner.

They waited for a moment, for some sort of sign. Then they waited a little longer, and when nothing happened, they waited for a moment more.

"It seems that none of the forebearers recognizes you as their descendant. But do not fret, this is not the end. You can still worship them, and perhaps you can sit..."

Caspian blocked out the priest's words. 17 years in the orphanage, every single day working towards this one... and all that was for nothing.

Had he served these 'gods', praying every single morning, every single day dedicating his entire being, his entire faith placed in them, just for them to deny him?

His dreams, his hopes, for naught?

~Fuck you,~ he thought to himself as he stared at the statues.

Who had he been fooling? Every single morning when he prayed, he secretly thought about how wrong it was to pray to these dead humans.

Every single day he dedicated his 'entire' being to them, he kept some to himself. Every minute of work he did, he dedicated some to his own personal growth.

His full faith in them was a facade. As hard as he tried, he felt no connection to them.

The reason he had been worried since this morning was because he already knew that the forebearers were not his ancestors. He already knew his fate.

"-you will always have a place in the chu-" the priest's words were brought to a halt as he heard the statues crack.

"Wh-what's going on?" the priest shouted, before taking a few steps back. Two knights rushed into the room, wondering what all the fuss was about.

"Forebearers have mercy on us," one of the knights whispered to himself, staring in shock at what was unfolding.

The statues began crying, black tears rolled down their bronze faces as the cracks spread throughout their bodies. Till eventually, they were completely covered.

Another crackle, and new faces began appearing over the statues, smiling devilish faces.

"Get the bish-" before the priest could even finish that sentence, the ground beneath him cracked open.

"Imp-posi" a hoard of arms stretched out from the ground, pulling the priest in before the sentence could be completed.