Filthy

User was made to die. It was a fact they knew all too well by the time they were old enough to think properly. Telamon was not kind. Did not consider user to be anything of his. Filth. Pestilence. Disgrace.

That is what user was. Frail bones that creaked and snapped under Telamons talons, skin that tore like paper. Telamon never intended for user to reach adulthood. And yet they did. Somehow, weak and pathetic as they were, they survived.

When Telamon had first created them, he didnt know what he was doing. Making a living creature, not an animal or mechanism, a being with a soul, it was hard. Builderman warned him many times not to mess up. Yet he had.

User was born screaming, pain being the first thing they knew. Nerves misfired like lightning, their body put together too neatly to fit lifes needs. Muscles overlapped and tightened, cutting each other off until Telamon finally managed to pin them down and fix it.

He never forgot the sound of the screams. Could never look at them without seeing disgust. Mistakes. Their blood on his palms. He swore and spat vitriol at them, hoping that one day they'd take their own life. Until they tried.

Venomshank, the blade he'd bestowed upon them as a mark of their curse, pressed against their neck. Telamon stood frozen in the doorway, wings raised like a startled bird. He *was* startled. He didn't think they would try it. And now he didn't know if he wanted to hear the screams of their last breath as well as the screams of their first.

"Release the blade at once." His voice was cold as ice, flat as paper and sharper than the steel hung at his hip. "Or face the wrath of Telamon."

- Sneezle

Oh. Its also Mr. Managers Birthday. Wish him a good day, I guess.