May as well handle this before someone unqualified handles it for me. I go by many names, depending on whom you ask, though my primary moniker is "Ethereal". I didn't initially care for the value judgments of a blind seer capable of playing and enjoying hopscotch, but the name's grown on me over time. I'm regularly accused of being a self-insert, egotistical, and evil, among other things, though these strike me as half-truths.
Who am I? Might be best if we start at the beginning.
I was born as a human on little 'ol Earth. Made it for seventeen years without inter-dimensional altercations. Naturally, during my first archaeological expedition, I was Kidnapped by the Call, or more specifically, pushed into a portal by a thief in the employ of an oligarchical consortium somewhere across the vast reaches of space and time. I was discovered almost immediately by a duo of field researchers who promptly returned me to the local outpost.
Unfortunately, this outpost was commandeered by a particularly distrustful Colonel Badass, Lieutenant Raushok. While the researchers treated me with cautious respect, going so far as to teach me their language (an endeavor clearly motivated by the desire to ask questions about my home, physiology, mental state, etc.), Raushok was thoroughly convinced that I was a spy for an uprising rebellion.
Enter Project Spectre, a device intended to cautiously destabilize molecular composition of living creatures such that they might pass through solid objects (like bullets). Spectre was still in the early development stages, and had thus far maintained a 100% annihilation rate. Thus, the Lt. Raushok forced the scientists to activate Spectre on me, resulting in a cocoon-based Cruel and Unusual Death. My body was vaporized without so much as a puff of smoke. My soul, however, was intercepted by a ring of deities of Anthropomorphic Personification. Four dragon titans, each having waned in power over the course of a long run of widespread atheism on the planet. Desperate to build relevance and once again interfere with the matters of mortals, they needed an easily-molded outsider to serve as a puppet, and what better entity than a young, impressionable extraterrestrial with a axe to grind?
After an orientation in which the gods explained their plight, veiled as a heroic call to action in order to restore balance to the world, I agreed to their terms, which, given their desperation, were simple: Aid the military, the very entity which had murdered me, in crushing the rebellion. The gods then forced a Painful Transformation upon me, warping my soul into a physical body designed entirely to hold me to my "origins." A draconic figure representing the gods themselves. Black scales patterned with glowing, symmetrical, white markings, mimicking the species of creature which had discovered and been so kind to me (Colonel Badass excepted). They told me I had received a Super-Empowering which I could use to enact their will. I was then returned to the mortal plane sporting new, imposing soul for a body.
I emerged from Project Spectre's cocoon with an Absurdly Bright Light. Upon seeing the naked figure of a monster standing where, previously, a human had, Lt. Raushok immediately opened fire on me with his personal weapon, as well as ordering a facility Lockdown and setting the establishment on alert. My new, longer legs allowed me to speed through the facility. Though the reinforced door to the outside was already closed, I successfully passed through it, and proceeded to continue running.
The featureless plains beyond the outpost further lent energy to my drive to run, and given that I was trapped in a strange body, hunted by the military, and in shock, I ran for five consecutive days without ceasing. Robbed of my usual senses and disoriented, I inadvertently stumbled into a cavern leading directly to a tribe of subterranean dragons. The tribe as a whole might've reacted in panic to my monstrous appearance, if not for the gleeful, noisy approach of the village seer; a young, blindfolded, eye-gouged female thrilled to see a spirit in the flesh, despite all associated inconveniences.
Rubika, this seer, took it upon herself to drown me in questions as to my nature, few of which I was able to answer. Thankfully, she also proved able to answer some of my own, notably those of contact with the gods, and differences I might experience after having been murdered. Perhaps most importantly, and against my will, she refused to refer to me as something other than "ethereal," which, disliking my now-forgotten birth name, the other tribesmen immediately adopted as my new name.
Feeling obligation to the gods that had so graciously given me immortality and a second chance, I soon departed from the tribe and enlisted in the military, ensuring that I'd not be deployed to Raushok's command. If I had to fight for the establishment, I certainly wouldn't fight for my killer. The war was unpredictable. The rebellion operated strictly out of small terrorist cells, an academy of skilled assassins at their center. While I frequently engaged in raids on suspected cell sites (never locating one, at least, not with rebels present), I also personally spread the government-approved propaganda further casting the rebellion as the enemy; colorful posters and the like.
During a propaganda posting route at night, I was ambushed and impaled through the chest by the most feared graduate of the assassin academy, a greenscaled dragon named Ssrint Hagacer. The impalation of ghosts, of course, tends to be ineffective. I was surprised, though neither hurt nor harmed. My scales immediately reformed themselves, closing the thorough wound entirely. Proper protocol might have been to kill him on sight, but I suspected I couldn't. I was well-armed with military issue equipment, but if nobody else had succeeded in so much as wounding the feared rogue, how would I, an inexperienced and yet-clumsy grunt, differ? Seeing value in an apparently invulnerable soldier, Ssrint opportunistically introduced himself to me, and questioned my reasons for "fighting for the enemy." He invited me to "examine the world from a different perspective" before fleeing into the night.
As I explored the nation's capital through my duties and raids, I began to understand Ssrint's words. The people weren't being killed off by the supposed terrorist rebellion. Instead, they were being oppressed and, if necessary, silenced in order for the militaristic government to increasingly consolidate power over an otherwise free people. Patterns in the media spelled it out - the rebellion never stole or murdered except from key figures, each either a repressive fascist or corrupt enabler.
The gods that had granted me my power urged me to ignore my instincts, but in their failing ability, they were unable to control me. I shut them out and turned on the army.
With nothing to lose, I started small. My own troop had been responsible for a great deal of heinous crimes, and so I attempted to sabotage our own munitions. A squadmate caught me in the act and spent his ammunition on me, blasting through my armor so thoroughly that it simply fell off of my body. I flinched, but took the first several shots, knowing I would need to tolerate that which couldn't truly harm me. The sensation of my scales separating to yield to a hail of bullets, however, overrode my willpower. My intangibility triggered a second time, though now, it was accompanied by Invisibility. I'd had enough of the increasingly apparent cruelty, and snapped my former squadmate's neck. I enjoyed the feeling of empowerment too much.
I walked out of the armory naked, only to be confronted by the other four members of my squad. They saw the broken neck of their own former brother behind me, conducted simple addition, and collectively opened fire on me. The more bullets I had to take, the more irritated I became, and the willpower welled up within me. Instinct told me to phase, my mind told me to stay present - I couldn't do what needed to be done if I was intangible. I found myself rapidly phasing in and out, but a secondary effect took root - while phased out, I began to physically grow. I had a mission, and if my weakness stopped me from committing to it, then my soul would compensate. The soldiers justifiably backed away from me as my height rose with their decreasing supply of ammunition, and I soon towered above them at thrice their own general height.
Exhilaration built within me as my mind was blown open to my own potential. I had no idea how I'd grown at all, but I felt unstoppable. Bullets felt less and less invasive with every inch, and now, there was nothing stopping me from exacting wrath. I immediately became drunk off the power - the soldiers before me were no longer soldiers, they were pests and vermin. I lifted my massive feet and quickly disposed of them in the most humiliating manner I could imagine.
I was sickened at the degree to which I enjoyed the sounds of bodies breaking underfoot, the expressions of terror and the desperate cries tossed from my prey's faces just before meeting their end. Immediately, I reminded myself that I was committing these crimes for the right reason. These men had fought for the wrong side, just as I had. Nothing would be too horrible a fate for them. I didn't miss them, and I had no regrets. I did want to cry, but the mixture of emotions may well have been as obstructing of tears as my lack of tear ducts.
