Ah, death. What a sweet topic.
All the doctors said I would die. A debilitating illness took me since childhood, and I
lived on medications, taking
excessive amounts each day just so that my body could right itself. My pathetic excuse for a family cared nothing about me, only declaring that if I could not
fulfill my duties as the heir, I was trash. Leave me in a hospital bed to rot if I could not serve my purpose.
So each day dragged on upon my health, and each time I vomited and coughed blood, and each time fever overtook me, I knew I was closer . . . hovering on that precipice, that madness between life and death . . . and it was pain, and bliss.
But I could not die.
So I turned myself into a homunculus.
The hontai I made of my genetic material-alchemy in its perfection to turn me into a superhuman more powerful and elegant than any being on earth . . .
The pain as it
bore into my skull, killing my brain and making it new-
Ah.
Agony. And ecstasy.
And now, I am immortal.
[Slow, eerie laughter, slowly growing louder and louder until it fills the room.]