Chapter Text
Being the Parkour God meant a lot of responsibility.
His presence graces the world, arms-length at all times from civilization, his body had longed to exist long before his ascension.
Omnipresent in a sense, mind floating around the very being of life, feeling the throb of everyone's heart instead of his own.
Technically, he could enter a more mortal form.
But his existence will never be the same. His feet would land on the blocks, and he'd feel no different than yesterday. His body would be cold, scarred and pale, lacking colour, lacking life. His limbs would shake, unable to control their cool, unable to bear the weight of Evbo and his title.
Oh, how could such a mortal body carry the responsibility of a deity? How could a noob be divine, out of order?
He found himself on the bottom layer of Parkour Civilization. His legs dangle off a block, they're numb, there is no blood to be found circulating between his cells, platelets don't come naturally.
The grass tickles his skin, under his palms. Well, they would tickle his skin, it is no longer pleasant, it is no longer uncomfortable, it is no longer familiar.
Evbo lets out a wry laugh. A satirical wordplay of his feelings, but sometimes it seems like he doesn't possess those anymore either.
He thought being on this level would bring back memories. Good, bad, doesn't matter, any memory would do. It's not like he lost his memories, no, they're right here, stored in between the atoms of plight.
But he possesses all the memories of everyone who continues to breathe the same air as he did once before too. They overlap, they fight, they leave no space for his own.
He doesn't need to breathe, this body is dead, yet he inhales sharp and exhales long, sighing as his gaze stares down at the blades of grass.
He isn't aware, but he knows he should be, he can feel he should be, he can feel what he doesn't. His bandana is on his head too tightly, the shirt under his hoodie sticks to his chest, worsened by each fabricated breath, his netherite boots are inordinately stuck on his feet uneasily.
He comes to those conclusions by logic, his senses tuned down, it is impossible to thrive in such a disposable body.
But, at the same time, Evbo feels bad slandering these bones, these muscles. These are those that got him where he is now, got him away from the very level he is on right now.
He spent so much time trying to escape, trying to ascend within the temple, to parkour his way to the top, and now he seeks unfound comfort in the naturality of where the noobs reside.
His noobs, they're free from the cycle that the Evil Champion has bestowed upon them.
"My Parkour God, is that you?" An unfamiliar voice makes Evbo whip his head up, searching for the source of the prayer. Or, curse, whatever they wish to convey with their feeble words.
Getting himself off the ground doesn't hurt, but he manifests the pain either way.
"The one and only!" The grin is wide enough that it's inhumane, his cheery tone sounds like poison. "What's up, man?"
The noob looks taken aback, Evbo's words are too causal to be a God, one must think. But is he supposed to speak in rhymes? Are riddles meant to be woven in the silk which threads his sounds?
They remembered their manners, quickly throwing his hands together, a swift one-block jump, head bowed down. It makes Evbo feel ill.
"I guess, I just want to know—" Recovering from the jump, Evbo can't seem to relate. The noob looks up, they don't quite meet his eyes. "—how you became so powerful. How did you level up so quickly, and became the Parkour God?"
I starved.
I pleaded.
And each day would I be woken before the sun was fully up, unable to bask in the beauty of the sunrise, too hungry to focus.
I'd stare at the pros, who looked to be flying, making the jumps easily. My stomach would rumble, yet the uncooked chicken was all that I deserved in a world so unforgiving.
Exhaustion would plague my every jump, unable to stop, too difficult to continue. When I'd fall in my bed, it'd be the brisk of dusk, or just an hour after waking from slumber.
"Just keep trying, and believe in yourself!" His advice is mundane, a template. "With enough hope, you can achieve anything!"
The parkour noob stares at him with awe, sinking in everything that their God has to say.
He has so much more to say, but he doesn't.
He didn't have an ounce of hope, just foolish delusions, one that just so happened to pay, pay off the debt he owed for becoming. But, well, those were hopes too? Unrealistic hopes, that he was aware of. But, he supposes, they aren't as unrealistic as he was led to believe.
"Thank you, God Evbo! I want to be as good as you in parkour one day!" By the looks of it, they're quite young, but time passes weirdly in Parkour Civilization. Or maybe it's just the byproduct of his discoporation.
The kid parkours away, excitedly traversing through the one-block jumps. Evbo's head hits the back of the Parkour Temple.
The Parkour Temple, right. He took cover behind it, used to be an unconquerable mass, sacredly built by their one and true God, created in the image of a perfect divider.
They worshipped the Temple like it was their God, the myths were just barely enough to make the jump for the chicken, the Temple was a set reminder of their goals, their failures.
Hesitantly, Evbo takes his boots off.
It's freeing, he set them beside himself, on the nearest block. Close enough in case of an emergency, it's far enough to detach himself from this fairytale.
Craved to have the stone bricks lifted from his shoulders, the weight pushed down, but taking the binds did nothing like that. His breaths were just as heavy, he heaved with the same amount of sorrow.
He shouldn't be complaining! He has everything he ever wanted in this world, he is on the top, he made it! It is his right to look over his civilization, controlled the way he'd like.
He isn't short on food, he doesn't have to parkour to survive, he doesn't need to listen to the restless resentment from parkourers above him. He is God, and this story will go as he pleases!
...
Hm.
...You know, to be fair, he thinks an awful lot about the void.
He explored Parkour Civilization through and through, knows it all by heart, he sees it all at once.
All citizens fear the void. Well, not anymore. Well, kind of, they do, but not as. Well. Evbo has no idea what is going on in the universe, in his universe, funny, no?
Parkour Prison wasn't exactly kind either, but fish was better than anything the noobs were ever fed.
Once, they got a piece of bread, the pro coming to feed them had some pity, threw in their sweet bargain.
He never saw them ever again.
If he were to push these heavy, heavy boots, would they plummet into the abyss, and would he regain all he lost?
"This isn't fair, I am the Parkour God, I should have control over my own body." He finds his face buried between his two hands, cutting himself off the air. A mumble is all that gets past those barricades that he built for himself.
He slips his God boots back on.
His journey led him into the temple once more, ethereal, more seraphic than his rapt jumps would ever be, one glance can tell you what your future holds.
Hah. To think, this is the same temple that he woke up seeing every day, staring from his porch, watching as it seemed endless.
This was every noob's dream, and now he walks freely on sacred ground. Only a few people live here now, those who were either too comfortable with doing easy parkour, or those who were unable to do what the pro layer expected.
Nobody was around to see if he failed the first jump of the course on purpose. And if they did, well, they wouldn't raise it in front of their God.
He'll just have to convince Emf to get rid of the level soon.
"Are you sure about this, Evbo?"
His friend stands on one of the command blocks, ready to move on command.
Evbo observes as Emf looks around hopelessly, hoping that they're looking in the correct direction when addressing him. They aren't.
"Yes, dude." He whines, and if he had eyes, he'd roll them. In this moment, only they can hear him, entrusted with divinity in omnipresence. "Or are you questioning your God's will?"
He hates to pull that card, especially when it comes to his friend. These are selfish gains, but they only benefit from not knowing.
Evbo seriously doesn't understand what the previous Parkour God saw in him, making him the successor of such power. It shouldn't be in his hands.
Emf sighs, his champion would do anything he says. Which is totally healthy, trust him when he says that.
They brace themself, preparing to make the long jump distance between the special blocks.
The diamond fits them better anyway.
It clinked so right when their feet hit the surface.
"Alright, it's done." Lazily, their tail swings from side-to-side, before finally wrapping around their own leg. "But why did you want to get rid of the bottom layer of Parkour Civilization, the noobs were already free to progress?"
"Yeah, but what's the use of keeping it if everyone else lives in luxury?" Evbo can't believe what he utters, are these really what he is saying?
They're dead. All of them.
I don't know these Noobs, neither do they know me.
What about my neighbour? What about the kids? What about those who stood in line to get the tickets for hours?
The noobs that Emf helped form differ from what the term used to mean. They were the lowest of the low, parkouring in Prison was more honourable than living on the bottom.
It's unfair in a sense, hm. I was once one of them, and now I rule over the very world they can't experience. Once a noob, always a noob.
Besides, it makes me feel... sick.
Not the kind of sickness that would be continuous, apparently consuming raw chicken my whole life did some irreversible damage, whatever that meant.
Evbo this, Evbo that, Evbo how did you do this, Evbo how did you do that, Evbo, Evbo, Evbo, Evbo, Evbo, I have fallen ailing.
Evbo—
"What!?" Zapping his gaze, it is apparent that the ephemeral lines appear once more, standing on the top of the Civilization.
Emf's hand jerks from his shoulder, backing away. Their posture straightens, not looking at Evb— at their Deity. No, no, please, please look at me. Look me in the eyes. I am the same. I can not change, I can stay the same, just look at me.
"Friend, I—" The words are stuck where they belong. Did he seriously manifest a body for himself while in deep thinking?
He can see their gaze search for blocks to parkour between, lower their head. The bow makes Evbo's stomach turn.
"I'm sorry, I forgot my place. I won't speak out of line again, you have my word, God Evbo." Evbo knows that his eyes widen, he knows that he gapes at who used to be his only master friend.
In a sense, Emf is like the void at night.
They dare not to exalt their head, and Evbo wants to reach out, and if he doesn't, what would happen?
They squeeze their lucent eyes, as he places his fingers on their cheek, slowly bringing it down to their chin. He only keeps two fingers, the rest curled around his fist.
Evbo lifts their head up, and they stare like a pro caught stalling, look at me, and they do.
Maybe it's his godly powers, maybe his friend is simply terrified of him, which is never a good thing to hear.
"I can bring it back, I can restore the level, if you want, God." Emf says, trying to make it sound all okay.
"No, don't." And he pleads. A God? Pleading at the feet of his Champion? Unheard of. Well, metaphorically anyway. "It's better this way, anyway."
"Did something happen—" He sees their hesitation in real time, behind them is the throne of those who are worthy. "—Evbo?"
He isn't, but he sits on the throne anyway.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me lately." With a sigh, he admits. His eyes trace the outline of the armrest, arms limply at the side.
"Three-sixties just don't feel the same anymore, you know?" Emf doesn't answer, they wouldn't know anyway. "I used to be the best at parkour. I was a parkour noob, a parkour pro, a master, and the parkour champion too. Now, I'm the Parkour God."
It's an invitation, the way Evbo scoots over a bit on the marble. Emf sits by him. It's big enough for two people.
"You're a good champion, my friend." Better than I ever was. They resented my name, spat at the vermin, on their tongue were the words acidified. I was responsible for the fall of Parkour Civilization. They love them, more than they ever tolerated me. "The people love you, you're doing great."
"What are you trying to say, Evbo?" The name falls so naturally on their lips, and it comes from a deep place of cavity.
With a pause, lacking a pulse, "I don't want to be the Parkour God anymore."
To that, Emf turns to look at him, even more so as if they weren't already.
Not that they say anything, and not that Evbo can read what they would like to say. They're surprised, unsure what to do.
"You—" They sputter, the crown is slightly askew on their head. "You earned this, don't say that. Who could it be, if not you? You're the greatest player to ever parkour, you did the unthinkable, you beat those who were thought to be best, but you surpassed them by hundreds of blocks."
Man, Evbo has to admit, what Emf is saying is kind of true. He battled the Legends, those who spent their lives dedicated to a form of Parkour, and they couldn't beat him either.
"Nobody does three-sixties quite as well as you do, and you can do it backwards. Parkour Hell, even in your sleep!" The champion exclaims, reminding him of his speciality.
He smiles. Or. Well. At least, he hopes he does. Working this body is a nightmare. How could he have such a supportive friend?
"Okay, fine, no more being sad." Laughing, Evbo says, waving his hand around. He looks forward, the sky is too empty. "Man, why can't feelings be parkour too? I would just do a three-sixty and would never have to worry about anything."
His ankles are supported by the sturdy material of the greaves, an element most certainly unheard of in most parts of this civilization.
Netherite.
It is crafted from the most elegant threads, the most special matters, taken from the depths that only the deities could reach. The previous God entrusted these boots to him, they're a reminder.
So why can't I remember?
Why can't he quite remember what dug the hole in his chest? This emptying pit in his stomach, entrapping his divine form too, reaching the gaps in which he resides.
Something is missing. That, Evbo is more than aware of.
He just can't quite understand how that's possible.
The masters jump with joy, and to Evbo they are like his heartbeat.
Every time someone lands, it feels like a sigh of relief. Every time battles ensue, a pleasant journey of a rolling tear.
It is night, there is nothing above them, just like it has been set. There is no dirt, there is no divider, they are aware that there isn't anything.
He idly floats next to his champion, not that Emf would know that. He doesn't exist, in a sense. Well, he doesn't exist in this form.
Man, explaining godhood is a chore. It feels like the time inflation hit the levels, and all houses cost the same amount of expense, that kind of chore.
"What is happening here?" His friend is startled by the sudden noise, it earns a chuckle from Evbo as they almost lose their balance.
The level is decorated. Some kind of string that has glowing orbs on it, it hangs from one side of the buildings to the other.
There are an unusual amount of masters out on the streets, they are usually more keen on spending the day in their house.
But then, he notices.
They aren't all masters.
Iron boots stick out of the crowd, duller than the shine of gold. They are talking, wandering around. They don't move much, the three blocks are a struggle on their range.
"And what are the pros doing here?" If he'd be a mortal, he'd be tilting his head at his friend. Did they arrange this?
His friend, pitch black dominating their anterior, gold-accented, outlining their brilliance. Around the white eyes is a silk-thin aureate contour. Flattened hair, marked with resplendent yellow, but would otherwise blend in with the sable.
His friend, parkouring onward on the parkour highway, Evbo follows pursuit.
"It has been a year since you saved Parkour Civilization from the Villain, we organised a little celebration in your name." Emf pairs it with a quick laugh, the fondest laugh in all of this city.
In— in his name?
Don't they remember I caused the destruction myself?
Don't they remember I set the Villain free, don't they know I damned this Civilization?
Wouldn't they celebrate those who died in my name too?
"You didn't have to do that— I mean, you kind of did, I am quite awesome, but I mean—" Evbo blabbers, he doesn't know what to honestly say, and he admits that too. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." Reassuring, the Champion calls out to get everyone's attention. Dang, Emf is really good at reminding him every day why he chose him to be his successor.
The temple towers over all, all are fealty to the true enigma, orphic in its Elysian glory. The Parkour Temple had been here since the beginning, and the world will end when it's gone.
A feast had been arranged in the Room of Champions, he isn't quite sure why it's called that.
Sure, there is the Champion's statue, one that used to carry his likeness, but there are the civilians and their symbols lined too.
Long tables follow each other, a few blocks in between every one. Rows of seats surround it all, but there is enough space to still move around comfortably.
Near the statue for the Pros is a podium, multiple people circle it, watching two people parkour battle. An iron boot and a master. Not bad, he wonders who challenged who.
Someone walks up to Emf, and they— No way! Is that his ally? Only his eyes show from behind the hefty, dark clothes.
"Is the God here?" With his usual hushed voice, a hand on the shoulder of his friend. Oh, man, it's been such a long time since Evbo has seen him!
"He is." They motion around with a vague idea, completely missing the spot that Evbo is ought to be, but it's okay, he moves there anyway. "Evbo, do you want to say—"
"Hey, dude!" And from the midst of nothing, comes a legend, the 360° legend, if you will. No, his ego never sleeps, thanks for wondering.
"I see you finally stopped being stubborn and levelled up?" Eyeing the shoes that peek out from under the multiple layers of clothing. How is this guy not burning up? It has to be like sixty parkour degrees out here!
"Yeah, yeah. I couldn't miss out on the big day, thought I owe this one to you." The amethyst fighter reminds, adjusting the hood on his head. Well, not a fighter anymore.
"If anything, I owe a lot to you, my ally. If you wouldn't have decided to help me that day, Parkour Civilization would have never gotten saved!" Evbo declares, and it's not even a lie.
Most people have already settled into their seats. They sit around, chatter, sharing a bit of their lives. Some are still watching a battle, he faintly wonders who won the last one.
Parkour battles are purely for fun nowadays. He can't help but think about all the battles that were decidedly not fun for anyone, but maybe to those who had the upper hand.
They respawn anyway, recreated anew under the clear skies of their city, society, wherever they resided last.
Maybe it's a strange enjoyment of hurt, knowing they can not die permanently anymore, they make the most of the pain they'll never know.
He swallows sharply, he doesn't need to. The only pain they'd probably feel is sore legs after a long day spent with jumps.
...
...There is no need to think about all this! He has a celebration to host!
Between blinks, he must have sat down somehow. He doesn't remember dragging his legs, body to the center. Was he holding a conversation with someone?
Seat elevated, staring down at his people.
They expect him to say something.
Someone coughs, someone drops a utensil, someone breathes a bit too loud, someone nudges him, someone whispers to the player sitting by them, and they all look upon the Might.
"I, uh, thank you all for coming!" Chatter rings through the chamber, others shush their fellows, attempting to control the situation. It's easy to forget that the last God never intertwined with the happenings of their mortal world, they've never seen who their prayers reached.
His skin is too tight around his muscles. "It's an honour, really, to be here with you all. My name is Evbo, if you didn't know, it's alright. I am now the Parkour God, and I was your previous Champion too."
Soft in the background, murmurs reach his ears either way.
'Evbo?' 'It is the noob who leved up!' 'No way! It is actually him!' 'Can you bless my boots? I want to buy a bigger house, but I can't parkour that well.' 'Evbo—'
Under his breath, says what no one will hear to recite, but for him to forget.
It is way too light for it to be the death of the limited night, the arch over the entrance does nothing to save them from the brightness of the dark.
His hand is way too disproportionate next to this... knife? Or is it a fork? He keeps mixing them up, they all look the same to him, anyway.
"I just, wanted to... wanted to say—" Everyone is watching him, why is he stuttering?! This never happened to him before, and it shouldn't be happening right now.
He's a bit light-headed too, if he's being honest, what is happening? "It has been a year since we dethroned the Evil Champion and since we defeated the Parkour Villian."
A year since they all gave their life up for my success. On my boots dry the blood of the wiped viability, they died all because I was stupid.
It is more of a royal we anyway, my heart throbbed behind my eyes, I resented it. I want that back.
I went crying to the Old Man, wailing about how I failed. Of course, he helped, what else could he have done? He was the one that gave me my first pair of diamond boots, they were his. He trusted me to save Parkour Civilization.
And I destroyed it instead.
They're all clapping, strident in the most jarring way, not entirely sure when he clenched his jaw so tightly. Why are they all clapping? What did he say?
"Are you not going to eat, Evbo?" Asked his friend between laughs, what was so funny? Did someone make a joke?
Emf's cape lies on the back of the chair, hanging off it, embroidered with the common secondary colour that keeps showing up in their form. It is way too long, it slides down on the floor, gathering dust.
Static, static, ringing in his ears is the incomprehensible cacophony of peal.
His ally's face is exposed, he stabs the steak on his plate, slicing it into smaller parts. His— his eyes are grey. He knew that already.
"Evbo?" His hands shake. "Evbo, are you alright?"
"Oh, um, yes. I'm just, not hungry right now. You know how it is, my friend, godhood and all." He can't deny that he chuckled quite awkwardly after saying that.
"But you! You should eat, I see you've only just eaten—" A glance down at their plate, in their hand is still a fork. "...it all, already."
Oh, this is awkward. This is so awkward, why did I say that?
"I've had a very bad idea. I'm not sure it could work, but I want to give it a try. Give back to these people, you know?" All of the area is decorated from head to toe. "We may need the command blocks, but it might work without it too."
It is more of a whisper, really, but it falls unheard either way, the boisterous event doesn't stop for conversations.
Yep, it still stands.
In the distance daunts a familiar building, the outline of it already visible from the highway.
Well, a better phrasing would be, it stands again.
The water splashes clean against the smooth quartz, breaking his fall. The Parkour Highway doesn't quite reach it, there is a lengthy distance.
Let's see if he still has it in him.
Ice block jumps are used to make some of the hardest parkour jumps. Andddd there is an entire row of it, and it's a head-hitter, nonetheless.
Gliding across, with enough momentum to pelt him forward, just barely landing on the stairs.
That was definitely way too close for his liking.
They got rid of this place a long time ago. If he remembers right, when he was still the champion.
These plain walls bring back nothing, they're simple, white, he doesn't want to say he remembers what happened here just like it was yesterday.
But it all happened fast, it might as well have.
At least the outside was way more decorated, the grey and darkly shaded glasses complement each other well. It tries hard to blend in, but it sticks out like a sore thumb.
For some reason, Emf still kept the Evbo-themed master houses. The colourless shell is too dull for all that green that surrounds it.
In the middle of the room are two brewing stands, smoke sizzling hazily.
Illicit to discern, no one is around to break them, no one is around to use them. An abiding damage that haunts I feel nauseous just looking at it.
Attached to the wall was the exact machinery that he wanted to find.
Long ago, he found out the truth in this building, life was only a mere unfair sorting system designed by the Evil Champion.
He promised himself that no one will ever get use out of this premise ever again, let alone have the power to control the rank of players.
But there he was, trying to figure out how to operate this... something. There are multiple wires exposed, going into the wall. "Let's see,"
There are very few buttons, and none of them are labelled. Now he understands why there was only one employee in this establishment, Seawatt might have known these controls by heart.
He could start by what he did last time too, hoping that he still remembers how to do that.
His fingers hit the keys on the built-in keyboard, mouthing each letter as he presses them down.
'Evbo', reads the screen now. All of a sudden, the screen goes blank again, did he do it wrong?
But just as when he was starting to give up, shined new words on monitor, emanating a bright glow inside this confined space.
'Rank: Noob'
It was worth a shot.
As the name disperses back into pixels, opens a new window. A bunch of words, no, names are on display.
It looks like they were keeping lists of every player, or maybe just those who were born under this particular rule.
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
[Deceased]
Deceased, and it just keeps going and going, written in the harshest red to ever be written in in all of civilization.
Scrolled down far enough to reach the [Alive] section, but an alarming amount of names had the opposite assigned. He doesn't want to think about all that he recognised.
A pedestal plagues the corner of his eyes. Made in the middle, supported by pillars that reach until the ceiling, begging to be relevant once more.
That is where his life started, isn't it? And he'll be damned before it ends there too, a honorable jump seems more suiting end.
Maybe a one-block jump.