Abel Talbott

Real Name: Abel Talbott
Renegade/Hero/Villain Name: N/A
Title: #X* (*the number depends on the person)
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Race: Caucasian
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Gray
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 173 lbs
Blood type: B+

Spoiler:

Personality: That man was great, he was gentle and kind, though as a child he was much rougher. He never bothered other people and actually preferred to be left alone most of the time. I know how that feels, his memories keep telling me how much he hated violence, about how much he abhorred harming another being. When he was five, he wandered the woods near his home town, going fairly deep in while the adults talked with one another about matters that he doesn't recall. He heard a soft cooing noise and looked at his feet. There was a baby sparrow, it had a stick through its wing. If he removed it, the bird would likely die of infection or shock, but if he didn't it would keep crying and suffering. To a five year old who knows nothing of such medical trivia as infection or death however, the choice was obvious. So that man, still a child, yanked the stick free amidst cries from the bird, its death wails resonate even in my ears, though I am nowhere near him in line.
The second one fought in a guerrilla cell for a few years despite the first one's express hatred of violence. The second one was not so much bloodthirsty as he was lacking in purpose. I can understand that, even now I struggle to find a purpose, the knowledge haunting me that even if I don't one of the next ones will. Anyway, the second one fought for the cell until they made him execute a child, simply because they found the child praying to some impotent god who didn't care enough to save him from them. Up until the second one's last moments, he always regretted killing the boy, not turning and destroying the men who jeered at him to do it. They were the monsters. The third one resembled the second one, but he was much calmer, as though an equilibrium had been achieved between the two.

He was happy for a while, met a woman who his memories call Tanya. She was a brunette with the most wonderful eyes and a soothing voice. She brought him peace for a time. Then she got pregnant. The third one was overjoyed to hear this, even though she wasn't. His memories say that she wasn't ready to be a mother, though he pushed her to keep the child. There was no religion in his life because -just like me- he had the second one's memories. The image of that child dying before him would forever close off the gates of heaven in his mind. There was no such place, the suffering here was too great for such a realm to be more than a fabrication maintained by human consciousness, though they say the human mind is a powerful thing. Perhaps the collective will of humanity all focusing an unconscious amount of psychic energy into the unintentional creation and maintenance of such a thing could bring it into reality. A pocket of psychic energy where once you died your residual self would drift into so long as you contributed to it while alive.
Either way the third one would never see it. The third one's wife had the child, but slipped into a depression that affected that perfect equilibrium none of us have managed to achieve in his stead. In many ways, the third compares to the first in his greatness, the awe of him only mitigated by the knowledge that he was just as human as his wife. The woman killed herself almost three months after and took their baby with her. The third came home and found one corpse cradling another, taking his own life shortly after.

The fourth was a dark one, born looking upon corpses and blood filling his nostrils. The fourth was the darkest, and all of us after strive to never become like him. He went on a massive killing spree and was soon shot dead by police. I believe that's the way he wanted it. At his core the fourth was broken, twisted, so he committed what some have deemed 'blue suicide'. The fifth woke up under a knife and killed the man who held it.
The fifth was nearly as bad as the fourth, for he held no regard for life, even his own. He was smarter than the fourth I'd say, in that he didn't go around killing if it didn't benefit him. He briefly worked as a hitman for the mafia before he was shot in the head.
The sixth was something more akin to the first, disgusted by the actions of the fourth and fifth, he went to a monastery in Tibet and found a sort of inner peace. That was his first encounter with supers. Another was there, meditating. He taught the sixth many things that I can still remember, even if some of them have become lost in the rage of others or simply forgotten due to lack of value.

I think that's a shame, In my opinion our memories are what make us. Without them how could I distinguish myself from them? My actions are all something done by another, so that means little, even the greatest dictators of history were shaped by their memories.
The world works on the unconscious basis that a man with no past cannot advance forward, for he has no mistakes to go off of, no successes to his name. It is for that reason alone that I, like all those before me, choose to keep the first one's name. It holds memories, more than I will ever have. The rest of them are inconsequential, not because they did not matter, but simply because most of them lived only a short time. There was a lot of upheaval in the world and each died within a year.

So here I am, Abel 17. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

History: To be perfectly honest, I've forgotten where the first one was born. I am deeply ashamed, for the first one is sacred, the knowledge we all gained from him should never be forgotten, though somewhere down the line one of us did. That's the thing I hate about forgetting, you're never aware of it until you try to remember what it was you forgot. It's a terrible crime, to lose something that could be so precious without even being able to say goodbye. Goodbyes are important, they let you have closure, even if it's unpleasant. To put an end to something of your own volition is far less painful for it occur when you are unaware of it.
The Pain may seem spiked and constant for a while, but it's better to end something than to let it persist beyond its own life, lest it become a limping dog, covered in sores of regret and dying of an unseen disease that is a close relative of stagnation. But that's beyond the point. All I know was that it was somewhere in Europe, possibly Germany or the Ukraine, I have no accent and all my memories of the first one are like a silent movie, action punctuated by understanding of what is implied. In many ways, it's a beautiful thing. In others, it brings me great frustration.

The second one came after the spell brought this gift... Curse? Power? Blessing? Call it what you like, but the second came after the first became the first rather than the only. He took great advantage of his power, charging enemy lines with wild abandon and absorbing damage with impunity. He wasted so much of the first those days, that nothing of the man's body is still here. That saddens me beyond any expressible measure. To have a piece of the first would be like being allowed to touch a god. Anyway, the second fought like a man possessed up until his final day where he was shot to death by men from the other side. His own men abandoned him, allowing the third to rise in utter silence, like some revenant coming back to haunt the battlefield of his ancestors. He rose, and he walked. He walked until he found a town, the place was small, but it made him happy. There he met Tanya, but you already know about that. The fourth's life was exactly as I detailed it, bloody and brief. The fifth lasted only two years before sharing the fate of the second, being shot to death by a rival gang. The sixth's life is one I enjoy reflecting on, for he influenced me more than almost all the rest.
His meditations have kept me sane on those long nights where I could not bear the thought of being alone despite the rest being right there. That's a real tragedy you know, being so close to a god, and yet never being able to interact with them, they aren't even aware of your existence, let alone your longing to be with them, just to bask in their presence, a soft smile directed at you, or a laugh shared at no one's expense. These are things I will never share with the first, even though I can see him doing each of these things. As though some ghostly photographer was watching all of it and decided to show only what would make the rest long for what they could never possess. The rest would die in quick succession, at least five of them killed in a span of a few minutes by mortar fire and the rest living only a year or so at a time.

I will not forget them, but there is nothing about them worth communicating to you. What about me? I was born the same way so many of us have been, lying in a pool of my predecessor's blood. My first words were 'I am the seventeenth, and I am awake'. The sixteenth died because he was so much more like the first one than I am. He wouldn't hurt a fly, so when a man killed him, he bore the man no ill will. I on the other hand, I am much more akin to the second one. I killed the man who murdered my predecessor. He got what I felt he deserved.


Power(s): Power.... such a strange thing that, some would call what happened to the first one a blessing, to no longer be an only, but a first. He was lucky they'd say. Though they didn't understand. They believed that 'regeneration' as they put it, allowed for immortality. In a sense they were right, the first will never be forgotten by us, but I doubt that is what they meant. The implication that I am the same person as the first -while flattering- is wildly incorrect. I am Abel 17. While others might refer to the first's power as regeneration, the sixth one had a different name for it, one that I feel is far more appropriate. He called it, instant reincarnation. I suppose that is what it is. Far more so than regeneration. I am no more the first one than you are.

My left arm belongs to the ninth one, my legs to the twelfth. My torso and right arm are from the sixteenth, as is my face. The only part of me that's me is the spot on my forehead where the bullet was pushed out. That one unidentifiable inch of flesh is mine. As well, in some dark cave, amidst the rock and slow drip of of water hitting stone, the second learned of an ability that only the thirteenth ever attempted. It ended his life and doomed the fourteenth to a life only two hours in length. It is a sinister technique that transforms the body into something else, a great colossus capable of amazing feats... at the cost of the practitioner's life.
The brain is destroyed and remade, a new being. A new body. How then are my limbs from those before thirteen you ask? I can just feel it. I can feel my right arm squeezing a baseball, I can feel the soft sand under my feet. The thirteenth one never touched a baseball nor did he ever visit a beach or other sandy area. I can tell. And that's all I need.

((8 regen ABI + transformation))


Grid:

Spoiler:

Veruh nice. Approved and moved.

Trashed