Son Of Father Time

Approaching the shelter cautiously, the warrior couldn't quell the surge of curiosity and admiration. The inhabitant amidst the junkyard appeared intricately connected to the enigma of time, possessing eyes that radiated an ancient wisdom, as though witness to countless ages come and gone.

Seeking answers, the warrior addressed the person in a composed tone, "Your lack of surprise at my arrival and your knowledge of who I am, intrigues me."

The person's smile widened, inviting the warrior to join him. "I am known as the Son of Time Father," he revealed. "And I understand precisely why you are here. You struck a deal with my father, the details of which elude me, but your objective is clear – to eliminate those on the list."

The cloaked figure chuckled, a deep, earthy sound that seemed to echo from the dunes themselves. With a swift, graceful motion, he threw back the hood, revealing a face that defied the sands of time. The agelessness that glimmered in his eyes now spilled onto his skin, smooth and unblemished like polished marble. Yet, within that youthful veneer, one could trace the delicate etchings of eons lived, whispering stories of creation and oblivion.

His hair, defied earthly limits. Ethereal strands of sapphire danced around his shoulders, catching the sun's glint like a thousand captured stars. And his eyes, once a glimpse of celestial beauty, now blazed with an intensity that spoke of both boundless power and boundless curiosity.

This was no mere man, the warrior realized with a jolt. This was a being born of time itself, an echo of the universe's heartbeat. But what unsettled him most was the incongruity - the casual serenity etched on a face capable of manipulating the very fabric of existence.

"You stand on the precipice," the Son of Time Father continued, his voice still that soothing balm, "the list within your grasp. Yet, here I am, offering a riddle instead of a blade."

The warrior's grip on his sword tightened. "Why?" he growled, his voice gruff against the desert wind. "Why interrupt me now? Why reveal yourself while I stand so close to fulfilling the deal?"

The Son of Time Father tilted his head, a gentle amusement playing on his lips. "Perhaps," he murmured, "because your path, though paved with vengeance, leads not to the conclusion you anticipate."

Intrigue warred with suspicion in the warrior's eyes. "To what, then?" he pressed, his voice raw with the echoes of lives he'd already taken.

The Son of Time Father stepped closer, the vast desert seeming to shrink before his unhurried stride. "To a choice," he said, his gaze locking with the warrior's. "A choice that may rewrite not just your destiny, but the very fabric of time itself."

A furrow deep as a scar carved itself across the warrior's brow. "Then you must also know my intended target," he rumbled, voice like the desert wind rattling dry bones. His gaze sharpened, seeking confirmation, a desperate attempt to cling to the certainty his purpose had provided.

The Son of Time Father leaned closer, his ethereal eyes revealing a wellspring of sorrow alongside unfathomable understanding. "You see, Occupier," he breathed, the title resonating with a cold truth the warrior had long wrestled with, "some individuals, even fathers, twist power into a cruel weapon. Your target, consumed by his hunger for dominion, would not hesitate to sacrifice anyone, even you, to further his ambitions."

A cynical rasp escaped the warrior's lips. "Not everyone can wield power's blade without succumbing to its edge." 

"Indeed," the Son of Time Father conceded, his gaze holding a glimmer of admiration for the warrior's hard-won wisdom. "And that is why my father, ever the enigmatic puppeteer, chose someone like you: unyielding, ruthless, but ultimately, a slave to his own code of honor."

"What?" the warrior spat, bristling at the veiled accusation.

"The tasks," the Son of Time Father continued, his voice a sigh tinged with regret, "the strings my father pulls through your actions, they always lead to unintended consequences, a maelstrom of suffering that ripples through time. Have you not noticed the world groaning under the weight of your interventions?"

"The world," the warrior snarled, the word tasting ash on his tongue, "holds no meaning for me. I fight in a realm beyond anyone's concern. Only my own time and life bothers me."

"Hundreds of thousands slaughtered," the Son of Time Father whispered, his eyes burning with an anguish the warrior couldn't ignore, "rivers of blood staining the earth, all in the name of a contract forged in shadows. Is it truly worth it, Occupier? Don't you think you have learned the wrong lesson, taught to you by my dad? Or maybe taught to you by somebody more important?"

The warrior, for the first time, faltered. His gaze swept across the desert, a vast canvas splashed with the crimson echoes of his past choices. The Son of Time Father's words, heavy with the weight of untold truths, resonated within him, cracking the facade of stoicism he'd meticulously crafted.

Finally, after a battle waged in the silence of his soul, the warrior spoke, his voice cold but laced with a tremor of doubt. "I will fulfill my duty. The list… it remains a tether, a promise I cannot break. But know this, Son of Time Father, I play no part in your father's twisted game. I am no pawn in his celestial scheme."

The Son of Time Father's smile, once warm as desert sunrise, vanished, replaced by a steely glint in his eyes. "So be it," he declared, his voice hardened with resolve.

And then, like a bolt of celestial lightning, a fist wreathed in chrono-energy, the fabric of time itself distorted around him, aimed at the warrior's chest. Reacting on instinct honed by countless battles, the warrior rolled, the punch shattering the junkyard in a shower of splintered wood and metal.

As the warrior scrambled to his feet, the Son of Time Father, eyes blazing with righteous fury, ripped open a swirling portal, a gateway pulsing with impossible energy. Without hesitation, the warrior lunged after him, disappearing into the maw of the portal, leaving behind the shattered remnants of the junkyard and the echoes of a choice that could rewrite the tapestry of time itself.