The smell is overwhelming. It hits my nose like a wall, overwhelming me so I feel like doubling over and throwing up. It is both revolting and delicious, and I both hate it and yet lust for it.
It is the smell of blood.
Everything is inhumanly perfect and detailed in my mind, and even after years I am still not quite used to the superior form of myself. Everything is strangely sharp in my eyes, making the world seem to be from an alien perspective. Nothing of this body is my own. Even my mind is not under my control, everything is corrupted, set to one goal and one track of mind. But when I am at my most humane, I can almost seem to be able to reach something underneath it all, memories from my human self. A dark haired man with tan skin, and markings sprawling all along his body, something like the ones that created my new being.
The overwhelming desire to reach the source of the smell makes me take a step forward, but Gluttony is already far ahead of me. He has not been in this form as long as I have, but he has already lost much more of his mortal self than I have. Probably because he is Gluttony, the sin that desires this blood much more than I do. But all of us still want it, still follow all signs of it from instinct. It is part of the poison that courses through our veins; part of what powers us. It is one of the main ingredients to the Philosophers Stone; what all of our kind feed on. This is our mission, to collect the ingredients and find someone to make it for us, and then feed off it to keep our highly versioned bodies going.
Somewhere inside me, somewhere close to the human memories, I know that this form is not higher. We lack souls, and emotions. We lack the ability to feel, and we only have the ability to drive towards survival. We discard emotions so we do not feel when we sacrifice millions of unfinished lives just to power our own half-lived ones.
I am different from the others. They love this form of themselves, where they can do things mortals cannot. They love watching others writhe in pain, caused by their hand. They discard anything human in an attempt to grow stronger. I do not. I hold onto whatever piece of mortality I have left, in an attempt to feel even though I know it is futile.
The smell grows even stronger, and I know we have reached the source of the smell. Bodies are strewn across the floor, precious crimson seeping across the concrete.
I lose hold of my sanity at the sight, and the feeding frenzy begins.