Jura, the man who was chosen, rode back into his home town a hero. The whole town had come out to cheer him and celebrations began. Beck watched him from the shadows of an alley. He hated Jura. Couldn’t stand him. All his life he’d been a bastard to Beck, a bastard to everyone. Rage swelled within him. He hated all these people for cheering a man who had lucked his way to the top. A man with nothing more than a talent for beating things weaker than himself and not having much of a brain. Beck watched him come up the dirt track and stepped into his path. Jura’s horse reared and bucked him. Jura slipped and thudded to the ground, wincing. 

The crowd gasped and whispered amongst themselves. Beck sniggered. 

‘Jura the chosen one’, Beck said, his words vile and hateful. He spat at Jura’s feet. ‘Still as much an idiot as ever. It’s a wonder you survived your adventure. I had hoped for a gory death for you to be honest…’ Beck’s fingers traced over the pistols at his hips. 

Jura was red with rage. He pounded the floor with a gauntleted fist, only spreading dust around in a small circle. The crowd stopped, and stared. 

‘I demand a duel, Jura. Pistols.’ Beck said. Tension ripped through the air. Everything was still, and clammy. Everyone knew a duel was to the death. They had no way to interfere, a duel could be called at any time for any reason. Certainly they all knew that Jura had been a bit of a prick at some point, but all was forgiven. He had been on an adventure after all.

Jura said nothing, only watched. Beck smirked at him and addressed the crowd.
‘Our saviour says nothing! Jura is a coward! How can that be our saviour. Look at him. Look at that pathetic, worthle…’
‘…Fine, duel.’ Jura said, cutting in. Beck’s smirk widening. Jura had been baited: hook, line and sinker. 

    The crowd shifted and parted, leaving the duellers in the middle of the track, plenty of space around them. Some of the townsfolk moved off. Mothers dragging their children away, the squeamish shuffling off. 

The duellers stared at each other. Eye’s locked and hands hovering over pistols. The count began. 
‘Ten!’ chanted the crowd as one. Wind whipped down the track, stirring up dust and swirling it like a cloak around the men. 
‘Nine!’ Heartbeats increased.
‘Eight!’ Feet shifted.
‘Seven!’ Fingers flexed.
‘Six! Five! Four! Three! Two!’ Hands drifted down to pistols immeasurably slowly.
‘One!’ Metal scraped against leather. Hammers cocked. Gunpowder exploded. A man screamed. A body slumped to the ground. Blood spilled. Beck breathed deeply. Metal scraped against leather. Jura gasped. Sputtered. Died.

Beck strode back into his alley, breathing deeply and focusing. The silent crowd parted and watched him disappear into the shadows. Whispers of slayer ran through the crowd. The word floated behind Beck as he vanished. 

He left the crowd and disappeared into the twisting alleys of Machina. Satisfied he was alone, he stopped abruptly and sank to his knees. Beck wept. He’d wanted that all his life. To put that bastard down. And he had. In front of everyone. And now he wept. He wept because he’d killed a man for the first time. 

A circled of light popped in front of him and faded. A pair of people, a man and a woman, stood in its place. They dressed differently. Oddly. Beck looked at them meekly. He thought they must be Harbringers, here to claim him for murder. 
‘Don’t be daft, man! Harbringers indeed! No, no!’ said the odd man.
‘We’re gods.’ Said the woman, smiling. They smiled at each other, pride beaming from their faces. Beck’s face froze, but his hands twitched instinctively at his pistols. The odd man snapped his fingers, and the pistols vanished. 
‘See? Gods.’ Said the man, smiling.
‘Well I’m glad you survived that duel.’ Said the woman. ‘We’ve had this chosen one plan in motion for years.’ Beck was confused. What chosen one he thought. Had they meant for Jura to die?
‘Well yes, we did. By your hand as well. But I wasn’t talking about him.’ She said.
‘She was talking about you. You’re the chosen one’, said the man. He beamed down at Beck. Beck’s expression was…well, stunned. 
‘And you’re going on an adventure!’