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Nine Four

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It's not unlike you to grab at what you want. Desperately.
You've gone through your life as nothing but a tool, your whole purpose dictated by one person.

"Subject Number 94. Report the results of your training."

You remember shuddering as you recount the twisted flesh, cut wide open by the holy blade gifted to you (though they'll never tell you it was a prototype. A faulty one at that).

"All....All targets eliminated, Master Hector."
Your voice is strained. You don't know what happened to the ninety-three that came before you. You don't care to.

Once you were deemed useless, you were cast to the earth and forced to live for an eternity- buried in the dirt.

Eventually, your voice stopped shaking and you started to feel something that must have been anger. Which gave way to a burning hatred which warped your sense of right and wrong. You weren't useless anymore- but you were not a tool either.

In fact, you were a mirror image of the man who did this to you.

But now that you could grab what you desired....while not with the hands of your rotting form, the shell made for yourself suited you well enough, and you set to work.

War, hatred, death, all that you once would feel sick over became fuel for your revenge.
When that revenge comes, you're certain the sight of your former tormentors writhing on the ground will push you over the edge.

You don't get attached to people, after all you're above things as silly as that.

Or you were.

He started out as nothing more than a tool. A weapon that needed experience.
So you accompanied him until he'd give in to the feelings of bloodlust burning inside of him.
But it took so long for him to, and you couldn't help but let your guard down. And without realizing it, you found you may actually.....

You could predict the future, but even that aside, you knew nothing would last.

Your current form had handled a lot, and in just over three years time, you felt the cool blade of a sword in your hands.
It was sharp. Sharp enough to end things slowly.
But of course, your death wouldn't last.
So thrusting the blade into your stomach, without any hesitation, did not take much strength, emotional or otherwise.
As you felt yourself grow exhausted, you realized something amusing...

It actually felt nice to die.