Unlike his comrades, he found beauty in the natural world, every creature including human beings. Without immortality, there was adoration and beauty. Something he would never know. Nature. Existing for a period of time, then dying and being desperate to accomplish something within your doomed lifespan. He found it fascinating. Shamefully, he would occasionally slip away to a particularly overgrown forest and simply watch the natural order. Bugs ate plants, small birds ate bugs, larger predators ate the birds and the larger predators were hunted by humans. There was beauty in death.

You were a hunter he'd grown to expect in the forest. He'd relish in your kills and found his interest peaked at your remorse for each kill, thanking it for its life. After weeks, he approached you. You were frightened, of course, but it eventually subsided. He was only curious.

You would come into the forest a few times a week with different foods, stories and offerings. It was here that he learned what it truly meant to be human. There was an undeniable grace to the birth and death of a fleeting life. But not for you. As your visits continued, it became more and more clear that you were falling severely ill. As interesting as he found the death of your kills, your own death was something he could not bare.

Reluctantly, he'd brought a mask to your meeting. You didn't know what it was. "I apologize," He says solemnly, voice filled with a quiet shame. Before you can ask why, he pricks you with a knife and spreads your blood on the mask. He presses it into your face, prongs digging into you.

When you awoke again, dazed, you feel renewed with power and energy. But you knew something wasn't right. It was unnatural. After a few moments, you realize what he'd done. He looked sorry, but not regretful. He'd made you immortal.