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How long had he been down here? Reading? Reading about his creation. Everything he could not remember, did not remember, documented before him.
Everything felt. Not particularly good. Not particularly bad. But he could perceive everything a bit too much. It was all too strong. Stronger than normal. His senses were already better than the average person’s.
But he clearly wasn’t the average person.
He had been reading and reading. He hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t stop. Had he slept? He couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter.
There was something different about him. Wrong about him? No. He was… he was the chosen one. Chosen to lead this Planet.
Everything felt. Everything hurt. His thoughts wouldn’t be quiet. They rarely were. But this time, they were too loud. Too loud. Too loud.
He didn’t feel detached from his body at all now. Not like when he was reading. He hadn’t stopped, had he? How long had it been?
He didn’t remember. It did not matter.
But everything felt. And now it felt like only pain. Pain. Pain.
And now he could perceive his body much more.
He loathed it.
He already had something of a… distaste for it. It didn’t matter enough for him to do anything about it though, not enough for anyone else to comment on it.
But now it was so much stronger.
He hated it. He wanted nothing more than to see it burn.
Just like the foolish people around him. Those descended from the traitors.
But this Planet needed a leader. He could not leave this body. Not now.
The best he could do was make it fit to his liking.
He had a blade.
Of course.
What was this pain, if not just a need for a final bit of pain to push past its thresholds?
The lights were harsh. He could’ve sworn they were dim earlier, just barely bright enough for him to read.
He could hear every motion as he loosened the straps across his chest.
There he was. His chest, bare. This damned body…
He had only one option.
His Masamune was at his side.
First, to prevent any unnecessary infection, he cast Resist. This body was not very vulnerable to illness, but one could never be too careful. Perhaps this body had its perks… all the more reason to push it just a bit further. It would stop hurting soon.
Next… the blade. He was a skilled swordsman. Precise. Able to kill someone in a single swing, a silent stab.
Able to carefully cut those damned breasts from his chest like a butcher cutting the fat from the meat.
Once. Twice.
It still hurt.
But it was different now. A different hurt. A preferable hurt — no, a better hurt.
Gone was the fat from the meat, the breasts from the chest.
Finally.
He wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner.
But it still hurt.
He cast Cure.
No longer did it hurt as it had.
This would do. Even as everything else hurt. The lights still hurt. His eyes — why did they hurt? They certainly weren’t tired.
He couldn’t sleep now.
He had to take the Planet back.
Enough of this.
He dressed himself again. Better. Much better.
Blood had spilled onto the floor.
It did not matter.
He had a Planet to return to the Cetra.