It was the knife that killed me. What struck me was what a pathetically frail form a human being was. I was so alarmed by the red substance that poured from me that for a moment I had no idea what to do - it was the first time they had tried to stop me in this way.
My body shut down in a matter on minutes. The biting cold of the wind together with my grave knife wound ended it all. The pain increased dramatically beyond the spheres of any level of pain I thought human entities were capable of feeling, pain so intense that closing your eyes brings a blackness darker than the galaxy and a depth more vast than space. I crashed to the floor, rocks digging into my back as the starry sky blurred in my eyes, the tiny balls of light connecting and diluting into the same darkness I was sinking into. Death. Was this death? I was unsure. In the next moment, from my - somewhat unusual - perspective, everything ceased to exist, and the pain was no longer a feeling, and then there was nothing.
What occurred after that was of little importance. Existence after death is not so terribly complicated. Though I must say, existence after death may be different for me as it is for human beings, with all their heavens, hells, limbos, purgatories and supposed reincarnations. I just cannot imagine such intricate things. Death in itself is blissfully simple.
My consciousness escaped its bodily shell and spanned outwards, scaling the mountains, sea, forest, temple. I centred on the temple, the sanctuary that harboured those who would, as it appears, would rather see me dead. My attacker disappeared as swiftly as they appeared, but I located them now, escaping through the forest. I became aware of a little monk girl harvesting crop in the gardens at the foot of the smallest mountain, not far from the temple. I considered using her body, but the natural masculine power and dominance of human beings with the XX chromosome is what I require for my misson. Instead, I sucked her life force and transferred it to my former body, now growing cold. The basket of corn cobs drop from her hands. Her body crumples.
Grudgingly, my free consciousness re-imprisons itself in the male body I was occupying. I encouraged its heart to beat again, and its blood to rush through it. That wasn't all. As my body re-energised, I could feel something else changing; my psyche, my preferences, my... how would you say... I suppose it could be termed as the wiring in my brain. My 'love' for sport diminished, and was replaced by a great fondess for music. The colour red suddenly appealed to me. My taste buds decided they loved a peculiar fish dish called sushi more than anything else in the world - a dish they have never tried. My fingers were tricked into thinking they were nimble enough to play the harp, and as I assumed more talents and thought patterned of the dead monk girl, I noted all with interest.
Complicated things, human beings.
With a sigh - a sound I quite like making, I've found - I hoisted myself to my feet and continued my journey to the temple. I commended the monks' attempts to halt my coming, and I sympathised that human beings react in such rash ways when paralysed with fear... however, I'm sure they realise their attempts have been in vain. Perhaps I can use the example of myself to make them realise that the coming threat that I have travelled so far to warn them of cannot be killed so easily either.
This idea came to me while thinking about Octavia Butler's book Wild Seed.
I had to write this out immediately.