[ WP ] You are semi-immortal . Every time you die , you are reincarnated into another newborn human .

I was the first. Memories fade, human brains not meant to hold so much information. But each time I die, the memories fill me once again. I remember the first time. I was different from my brothers and sisters. They were stronger and faster. I was smarter. Of course, intelligence was n't exactly valued. They mocked me - Gorin was the fool who moved rocks without reason. Gorin was the fool who dug holes, then covered them up. Gorin was the fool who rubbed sticks against stones. Yet when the enemy clan came, they did not find the strength of the clan. They found the strength of my mind in walls, pitfalls, and spears. These things did not yet have names, but they would in mere decades. The first of my legacies. They learned to fear the clan of Gorin - he who was weak of body yet strong of mind, he who won fights and slaughtered his enemies with a frail hand. Yet no mind can think of every possibility, and, after my innovations had been copied and learned by all the clans, neighboring and distant, I found myself killed by a spear to the back. 
 
 I woke as a young child. I recognized little. My voice was a mewling shriek, not the deep boom of Gorin. A woman ran to me and cradled me. `` My little Machy,'' she whispered, and my heart quelled while my mind raced. Some part of me recognized my new mother, but this part was not Gorin. In a few years, I learned what had befell me. I, Gorin, the man of legend, had died the day I woke in this new body. I was no longer in my own clan, but one from far off, by the coast rather than amongst the ancient trees of the jungle. I had to learn new ways. One thing that remained the same was that I was weak compared to the others. I had no siblings this time, but the other children of the clan bullied me. They mocked me when I once again fashioned weapons of war. `` Do you plan to be like old Gorin, Machin?'' I knew their nature though, lived through it. Yet I knew that I could not prosper by recreating what I had already made. Even here, many miles away from my true birthplace, the ideas had spread like wildfire. What I created was old, stagnant. I created improvements. I added sharpened stones to spears. I created bows. We could rain death from afar. No war found this secluded clan, but food was plenty and our strength grew. I was praised as the second Gorin. If only they knew. 
 
 With each birth, I improved things a little more. I had a talent for innovation that others did not have. Yet, as I witnessed centuries go on, I saw each generation of humans become more like me. Smarter. More creative. What would happen when they became like me? 
 
 I moved onto less bloody implementations. I became an artist. I had an eternity to perfect each craft, and who could know the human mind better than its forefather? I could hardly bear killing now. If I was still the Gorin of old, I would have scoffed at my weakness at the time. Yet, if you knew that all those around you were your distant descendants, would you be able to kill them? I advanced education and agriculture. I extended life expectancies and created better conditions for my descendants. They became more and more like the bright and innocent young man Gorin had been. And like Gorin, I saw that their first creations were for ending lives rather than preserving them. How many have I seen dead? I waited it out patiently. Humanity, like me, would soon tire of killing and move on to seeking prosperity. Or so I thought. Centuries and so much improvement, yet nearly all of it in the art of death. Was this to be my legacy? To watch my own kin murder each other again and again over trivialities? The guilt bore heavier and heavier with each new war. Humanity was becoming a festering sore - one that would only cause more and more pain. I saw how it hurt the planet Earth. If nothing was done, we would all die, choked to death by hot smoke. And nothing was done. 
 
 I needed to spare humanity. Like many a friend who lay dying in the dirt, a quick and painless end was the only mercy I could give. If the man I once was, Gorin, I would be slack-jawed in horror as I ended my legacy. Now I worm my way to the top. It is not difficult. People have not changed much in millennia. When I consolidate my power at the top, the earth will be swallowed by fire and radiation. The wound will be cauterized to prevent infection. I am sorry to have brought you into this world only to bring you out. I ask you to understand, and trust from one who has lived countless lifetimes. I know that a suicidal guilt drives me on, and a morbid curiosity of what will happen when I can no longer be reborn. I do not believe my decision has been tainted by these desires - this is the best end humanity can have. Any other end will be long and painful. This, at least, will be quick. Goodbye. Perhaps we will meet after the end.
