"Tristan!?" a sonorous, resounding call emanated from the floor below.

Tristan quickly snapped out of his reverie. His body jolted as the deep voice from below breaks the silence, mildly frightening him.

Knowingly, he loudly answered to the deep voice below. "I'll be down in a minute, Dad!"

[Progression: sit-ups (105/105), punches (200/200), push-ups (399/400)]

His body was in a plank position; palms collided with the expensive, glossy, wooden floor. He did his final push-up. Inching his further body away from the floor as both his arms straightened.

Ensuing, a blue, hovering, translucent screen manifested.

[Task Completed!]

[+20 Exp]

[Exp: 95 / 105 | Level 12]

He, without a shirt, stood with his hands on his waist. His abdominal muscles bulged out from his abdomen. His fat, shrouding in muscle mass. His abs, hard as rock.

He heaved, wiping his sweat. "The grind doesn't stop. But it's getting easier …" confidence to his tone

A tall figure approached him. His forearm was extended out horizontally with a towel resting upon it.

"Actually, it's getting harder everyday. But your body is just accustomed now." He handed the towel to Tristan.

"Thanks." he began to wipe his face with it.

"Pay me back for being your servant by leveling up before next week." he responded, his eyes impenetrable.

Tristan looked up at him, "Uhm … no problem." This wasn't out of the norms. His 'servant' would oftentimes make these requests.

"What about the other task? How are we going to complete it?" his countenance — still indecipherable.

"I don't know," Tristan's voice trails off as he turns his head to the system screen before him.

[Special Task: Inflict sufficient damage upon a Successor within 30 days, failure is punished by death]

He heaved. "I don't see how we're going to complete such a task. Successors don't just go walking around, y'know."

"Then we must do our best to find them. In fact, I will find them. 'Cause if you die, Tristan … I die! Remember that," the older boy snapped.

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault—I'm really sorry."

"You did this to me! Remember that as well…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." his head - downcast; wretchedness written all over his face. Swathed in guilt.

The room was doused in quietude for a while. The two figures stood quiescently.

Until 'that' voice sounded again, "Tristan Remington!"

"It's Dad again." Tristan turned around. His father called a second time—this was disrespectful. He quickly put on a shirt, and ran off, rushing down the long flight of stairs.

The white staircase was spiraled. Tristan quickly rushed down the steps. Moving, circling down. He stood in the large, all-white living room.

The jarring living room always yelled the word 'expensive' to the people amidst it. His bedroom and the living room lingered beyond comparison.

Standing in a business suit; was a tall figure. He wore glasses of a thin frame that rested upon his nose bridge. His face was chiseled, and his brown beard was well-groomed.

He had ascended from the middle class a long time ago; praises all of which in gratitude to his Replication Ability.

In retrospect, he started off as a mercenary in the army; given that he just wanted to serve his country in some way that wasn't pecuniary.

At first, he dragged across the England streets in profound poverty; presuming that his life was beyond all help. He even had abhorrence for his own parents simply because they were poor.

For years he had explored different ways in which he could gain a few shillings. Things ranging from cleaning toilets to stealing from kids. But matters only became worse. All his attempts were in vain. But after having reached adulthood, he realized that there was one way he hadn't explored yet.

He realized that he hadn't tried joining the military. Although the financial gains were low as one would expect from being a soldier, Kurt Remington felt as if he was getting paid fortunes.

In the grand scheme of things, he knew that being a soldier entailed danger like nothing else akin. And he had only survived on the battlefield because of the innumerable, atrocious deeds he had done in the past.

He climbed up the mountains; ascending quickly to the middle class after having been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel in the army.

As soon as he became satisfied with the money he gained, he had firm resolve that he was going to quit. And he did. He retired before even taking the General's place.

And on that day, the latent businessman within himself had finally manifested. He ascended from the middle class at a remarkable pace and started a family of his own; his past still etched to the back of his mind.

It was clear to even him that his past was catching up to him, one could see it on his stern face in spite of how impenetrable it was.

"There you are, Tristan. Where were you? You know I don't like to repeat myself." his voice, sonorous yet soothing.

"I'm sorry, father."

Mr.Remington folded his arms and peered closely at his youngest son. "As you know, I am going to Korea for a couple of weeks. I figured I'd tell you since you're always so curious to know why I'm never home."

It was clear to Tristan that this man had another family to head off to every now and then.

He plastered a smile on his face. "That's no problem, Dad. When will you be returning?" mock happiness.

His father raised a brow, "Usually you don't bother. I see, you must've lost not only your fat, but your attitude that was intertwined with it."

"No, I just grew up; that's all."

Kurt heaved. "Okay, if you say so. Then, I'll see you in a few weeks from now."

He had only returned to the house a day ago, yet he was leaving again. He was never home; Tristan had resentment residing within his heart for this reason.

"There are some flowers, chocolates, and some money in my room for your mother. Apologize to her for me, okay?"

He slept in a room separate from his own wife.

"Okay, will do."

Tristan was the only one in the house that bothered with doing his father's little biddings from time to time. The rest just didn't care.

Now, Tristan spent most of his time playing Video Games; especially the prominent 'GRIM'. But he spent the rest of his time fulfilling his father's requests.

"I should leave now, if I may?"

"Sure, you can leave. Don't need to be all formal—I'm your father, aren't I?"

Tristan didn't know one fuck about this man, except for the fact that he was dirty in many ways.

Like spending thousands of dollars on those elf women. Sounds like something Tristan would do as well. And it was literally the only thing one could say 'Like father, like son' for.

"Yeah. See you in a few weeks." As Tristan turns around, his smile withers away.

He ambled off to his bedroom again; with the dark expression lingering on his countenance. Hatred.

***

Tristan laid supine on his bed; a hand behind his head, subtly resting on his pillow. His other arm was raised high. Fingers outstretched. Hovering above the palm was water in a spherical shape.

Upon thinking about all the things on his mind; all of which were reminiscent of the system or his father, the volume of water increased. The sphere becomes bigger by the second.

It grew large, when suddenly it broke free from his control. It splashed all over his body. Both his bed and his clothes were soaked. Doused in his own magic.

"That's not how you do it. You gotta focus deeply. If you become overwhelmed, it becomes harder, and you lose control." said the figure sitting on the floor at the other end of the room.

"Sorry." Tristan apologized, his eyelids drooped.

"Don't 'sorry' me, try again. You're not gonna let me outshine you forever, aren't you? C'mon, start over." prodded the boy.

Tristan peered over at him. "I wasn't practicing, y'know." apathy in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," he said, "Just try again. Like this." A gigantic sphere of water hovered in the air without him having to extend an arm.

It grew and grew. Spanning wider.

The sphere began to curtail as he closed his hands to a ball. The sphere completely withered away when his hand was closed. "You try…"

"A subordinate's not supposed to outshine the superior. You try it now," the figure prodded again; his eyes still not inclining.

Tristan heaved. "Whatever you say, subordinate." he raised his hand again.

Suddenly, water conjured up from thin air. Hovering above his palm. At first the water was sporadic; but then it meshed together with the other sources.

It meshed together. It formed a hovering sphere of clear liquid. This ball began to grow. It grew bigger, and bigger. A smile begins to take Tristan's face.

"That's how you do it! Come on, try beating my size!" cheered the boy; apathy still painted on his face.

The sphere continued to span wider. When suddenly, a sonorous ringtone sounded. The sphere of water quickly broke away from Tristan's control. It splashed on his clothes, the bed, and the floor.

He traced the sound lower down his bed. The closer he drew, the stronger he felt the vibration on the mattress. Then, he found his phone shrouded in the white bed seats.

Wristbands were replacing smartphones, but people still preferred the wider screens on them. And so, smartphones were still far from obsolete.

Tristan swiped a finger across the screen. The ringing came to a halt. He then carried the phone to an ear and rested the screen against it. "Hello? Ashton?"

He could hear Ashton's panicking voice on the other end. "Yeah, it's Ash. Jin … it's Jin … Jin's dying …"

Tristan's eyes widened, his heart incinerated, and exploded in his chest. "What!?"