Despite what they think, I am not a victim.
I can hear them now, talking about me, about the poor man who thinks himself a monster, who needs loving and cherishing. The poor man who needs to be comforted, and two of them in there think they alone do that, and protected. The poor man who never chose to have powers from beyond this world, never chose to share his body with a demon.
Whatever they believe, I made them believe.
Whatever I made them believe, it was never the truth.
Any fool can eke a living from fools. It takes a genius to get what I have.
I have eight people ready to die for me. I have two companions in my bed, though admittedly not at the same time. I have a comfortable home, everything I could desire and a reputation for being the poor, defenseless and wounded man who bears the sins of a world on his shoulders.
What is more, I have gotten this from people who in every right should hate me.
I admit, I have had hard times. I was thrown from my work with a dishonorable discharge, after I was found to be bedding the boss's son, my own boss and his second in command. I did get badly injured in a fight with Hojo, though admittedly it was not over any woman but the fact that he scorned my research into human possession. I did know Lucretia, a woman of little moral standing and less difficult to bed. I never cared for her, though I could have bedded her I suppose, if my tastes had swung that way.
I did fight a demon for my sins. He wanted me to sin for him. I wanted to make him my own personal sin.
My 'demonic' powers, forced upon by a mad scientist? Bullshit. They wanted to hate Hojo, so I told them what they desired to hear.
My repentance for sins never committed? Nonsense. I never had a conscience, it was what made me good at what I did.
Being cursed with abilities of immense power that I would dispose of in a minute?
I spent ten years fighting for these powers. I will kill before I give them up.
My fingers trace along that very source power now. The metal arm, that the others believe has been grafted in place of my own, the source of all that I have become.
A gauntlet, covering the shredded remains of my former arm. The price of power, my arm without this metal is useless.
But then again, my life without this power has no meaning.
I suppose you wonder why I care then? Why should the actions of one mad general, a former test subject, be of my concern? If I am as sick and evil, or maybe as amoral, as I claim, why do I fight for the side of good?
Simple.
If he wipes out this planet, no power in this gauntlet will save me. I like living, I like my power. I will not have a madman end that for me.
I look up as one of my lovers approaches. I smile shyly and look away as he pulls me to my feet and kisses me gently, like I am the most precious thing in this world.
It pleases me.
Because I know, next to this gauntlet, I am.
