Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Whoosh

The sound of another exploiter's body fizzled away, crushed under the Banhammer he called forth, crimson particles fluttering about before disappearing. Righteous fury blazed in Telamon's eyes, the hawk-like wings on his temples and back flared out as he hovered, tossing the hammer aside as it disappeared into his own pocket dimension, while the sword in his other hand was held firm, blood dripping from its blade.

The grass was bathed in red, splattered with blood and viscera. It soaked into the edges of his sleeves, and licked at the trim of his robe. The sounds of their screams only echoed in his mind for a moment before fading away into nothingness, forgotten in numbness.

It was unnecessary, really, fighting them before banning them. It was easy for him to catch them by surprise, for they all knew it was coming. Yet he couldn’t help but feel release at the slashing of blades, and tearing of flesh. The way the anger pooling in his fists was washed away in the aftermath of such a battle.

His furrowed brow relaxed as he floated to the ground. Mortals—His term for Robloxians—stared in awe, admiring his power, while fearing being crushed by it. They were exceptionally well behaved in his—and other admin's—presence. Why wouldn't they be? If they had any sense, they would tremble in his wake. Seems the mortals in this region were a particularly sensible bunch.

His expression quickly shifted to a kind one as he greeted those around him, a quick joke here or there, before disappearing in a flash of light.

Telamon was always more aggressive than the other admins, his bans a little more brutal, and his words a little too harsh. He never minded this. He is an admin, he should be respected. The other admins wouldn't say the same.

They shouldn't be scared of us.

Fear and Respect aren't the same.

We are their leaders. Not their wardens.

The other admin's words would flow through his thoughts every once in a while, usually after he was especially brutal. They were especially prominent now, as he made his way back to his office.

It was a large building, floor-to-ceiling windows coated nearly every wall in a sleek "Modern" style he easily grew bored of. It consisted of boxed concrete shapes, stacked in unorthodox ways, with foliage filling each corner of the gardens they kept on the roofs, and even more in the landscaping beneath it.

The inside was similar, with obnoxiously high ceilings in the main room, accented with geometric lights and furniture and "motivational" slogans plastered on the walls. The decor screamed an attempt to seem "funky" and "artistic" without taking any creative risks. Just enough to keep you entertained without being "too much."

You could see all the way to the roof in the center, a large glass ceiling with sunlight pouring down. The ringing of phones, tapping of keys, and chatter of mind numbing corporate nonsense echoed in every brightly lit hallway and dull conference room that always smelled clean in a way that made Telamon’s nose hurt.

Telamon walked past the weirdly high number of strange elevators in the main lobby to the stairwell, opting to fly up most days. It was easier, faster, and frankly, he didn't have time for awkward glances and stilted small talk in a cramped metal box as he made his way to his office.

Administrators offices were in various parts of the Headquarters, placed strategically based on their department to ensure the most efficient workflow possible. His position, as Creative Director, put him near other creatives offices.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way into his office, tension easing from his shoulders. He pulled the black hood off, revealing messy brown curls in an easy to manage style. He walked over to his desk and slumped in the plush leather chair, eye bags accentuated by the overhead lighting, framing his face in a way that made his eyes seem sunken.

Stacks of paper sat in a corner—untidy from being sifted through—tossed aside when he decided he was too frustrated to keep sorting through the seemingly endless list bureaucratic steps needed to even make the simplest of decisions.

Just as he began to sink into the leather and kick his feet up onto his desk, a piercing tone rang through the air. He leaned over his office phone and read the name on the screen, reading the name. 'Builderman'

Shit, he wasn't going to be able to ignore that one, now was he? He grabbed the phone, the plastics clacking against each other in an infuriating tone.

"What's up, Boss-man?" Telamon asked as soon as he held the phone up to his ear.

"I need to see you in my office." The voice on the other end replied, short and snipped. Telamon's chest tightened somewhat. It wasn't often Builderman requested someone's presence personally, instead of through his secretary. This can't be fun.

"I dunno, I got my hands a bit tied up right now, think you can push it back?" He asked, pushing back in the chair as the front legs lifted off the ground.

"Now, Shedletsky." Builderman replied, before hanging up.

'Well, fuck. Personally calling him, with the full name too? He must be pissed.'

---

One quick—as in taking his sweet time to push back the conversation as long as possible—later, Telamon sat in the waiting room outside Builderman's office. The chairs were nicer than the ones on lower floors, but still stiff. Or maybe that was Telamon's anxiety? Either way, his back hurt.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard the large wooden doors open, as a petite woman stepped out. Builderman's secretary.

"Builderman will see you now." She said in a business-friendly tone, stepping off to the side. Telamon nodded, and walked into whatever surely miserable fate awaited him.

Immediately he could feel the tension in the air, a pointed stare from the main man himself directed solely at Telamon. In a stiff fashion, he walked over and sat across from Builderman. He always hated talks like this. Builderman was his friend, getting scolded by him like a child was just humiliating.

"Well, let's get this over with shall we?" Builderman asked, before continuing. "I've received another wave of reports about you. I'm sure you can guess what for." A raised eyebrow was sent in Telamon's direction, as Builderman awaited a response. Telamon groaned, and leaned forward, his position instantly more lax.

"Is this seriously about the bans again? What is wrong with the way I handle it?" He shot back, brow furrowing and arms folded in front of him.

"Your fellow admins and I have told you this before. You are being too violent with it. They are wrong-doers, yes, but that doesn't mean you have to use them as punching bags for your frustrations."

"Why not? I'm just making an example out of them, so others know not to be like them-"

"No, what you are doing is scaring people away." Builderman's voice began to rise ever so slightly as he interrupted Telamon. "Exploiters and hackers know what the punishment is for exploiting, and yet they do it anyway. They do not care about the punishment, so drawing out the delivery of that punishment does nothing."

"Well-"

"This is non negotiable. If I hear another report about this, I'm going to have to take further disciplinary action. Now, if you are done complaining, you can go back to your work. "

Telamon silently glared at Builderman as he stood up, and stormed out of his office. Once the door closed behind him, he groaned, and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his messy brown curls, before pulling his hood back up over his head. He just has to make it through the day, then he can figure out how to fix this "issue".

---

Finally Home.

After another few hours of mind-numbing side tasks required of an admin, he finally made his way home.

It was a nice home, a Mediterranean style villa. Smooth, white brick walls with arched windows and doorways, topped with a terracotta colored roof, and expertly crafted pathways. Foliage lined the pavement, and lanterns illuminated the area in a soft warm light, keeping it well-lit despite the slowly setting sun. It was the perfect size, large enough to show Telamon's status, but not so large that he wouldn't know what to do with most of it.

It had all the most modern amenities, with an open concept to allow the fresh air to flow through it. A perfect vacation spot. Yet, despite how idealistic of a home it would be, Telamon still found it miserable. The large windows made it too bright, the white bricks showed dirt so easily and needed to be cleaned so often, the foliage needed to be maintained constantly. An endless list of complaints followed him everywhere he went.

Walking inside he immediately found his way to the couch and flopped onto it, sprawling out as wide as he could. So annoying. Everyone had so many demands of him, there were always too many things to do. He hated it.

After sitting with his thoughts for a few moments, running through the list of everything that went wrong, he finally managed to drag himself off the couch and into his office. Booting up his personal computer, he made a few queries.

'How to stop being so angry all the time.'

'What to do when you hate everything'

'What do you do when your boss says you need to stop being so negative'

The searches resulted in nothing. The same results over and over again. Anger management classes this, and burnout that, he wanted something fast. Perhaps he wasn't searching for the right thing.

Time ticked on as he searched, scrolling through pages and pages trying to find a quick fix to his apparent "violence" problem. As the sunset turned to dusk, a reminder pinged in the corner of his screen.

Date Night

---

The woman perched at the table, stubby nails tapping at the varnished wood table in a more private section of the restaurant. It had been 20 minutes past their agreed time, and he had so far been unresponsive. A dry prosecco sat next to a roll of utensils, and a half eaten basket of sliced bread sat in the center. Only a few sips had been taken out of the wine glass, as her legs kicked forward and back underneath the table. She pulled out her phone and sent another text, the tone of her messages getting more annoyed than the last.

"I'm so sorry!" She heard a familiar man's voice call out, as footsteps ran towards the table. Finally, she thought, as she looked up and saw Telamon.

"About time. You incapable of responding to texts or something? I've had this reservation for two months!"

"I know, Brighteyes, I'm so sorry. I got so invested in work stuff, I completely forgot."

"Oh wow, usually you can't wait to get out of there." She shot back at him.

"I know, right? You order anything yet?"

"Nah, I've had to wave off like a million different waiters. I know how picky you are."

"Thanks," He said as he picked up the menu to scan it. Every option seemed to be another pretentious dish made out of the most expensive ingredients they could find in minuscule portions so they can up charge as much as possible because it's "authentic cuisine".

"You know what you want? I think I want the 'Pappardelle Mimmo'. That sounds good. Apparently the truffles they use here are super rare." Brighteyes said, with a smile.

"Yeah, I bet. Gotta make sure it's as expensive as possible, huh?" Telamon snarked, his eyes too focused on the menu to see Brighteyes face drop a little, before she rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure yet, though." After a few minutes of waiting, an immaculately dressed waitress walked over, shiney smiles and a present demeanor. Perfectly trained to assist the rich and snobby.

"Are we ready to order? Are we starting with an appetizer, or heading straight for the main course?" She asked, a sugary sweet tone. Pliant, and ready to please.

"Yes, we are, thank you. We're gonna go straight for the main course. I'll have the Pappardelle Mimmo, please." Brighteyes replied, before looking at Telamon. The waitress nodded, writing down her order with a cheap ball-point pen.

"I think I'll have the..." He hesitated, trying to make sense of how to pronounce the words on the leather-bound menu. "..Arancini??" The waitress nodded in response.

"And would you like anything to drink, sir?"

"Oh, I'll have champagne," Telamon said, having not looked at the drink menu.

"I'm sorry, we only have Italian wines here," The waitress replied.

"I thought all wine was French." Telamon replied, which earned a scoff from Brighteyes. "Whatever, I'll have whatever she's having, then."

"Prosecco, correct? Those will be right out." The waitress replied, before walking off. Brighteyes said another 'thank you' to the waitress that went unacknowledged.

"Now." Brighteyes started. "What was it that had you so invested in your work?" She asked. Telamon groaned in reply, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, don't even get me started." He went, rubbing his eyes before continuing. "Builderman called me into his office."

"Ohoho, that can't be good." She chuckled, a knowing smirk on her face

"That's what I thought too. So I went up to his office, right, and it was super tense." He said, pausing to grab a slice of break and take a bite. Brighteyes nodded along as he spoke. "Turns out, he's gotten tons more complaints about me. Says I'm being 'too violent' with my bans. Ridiculous, right? But, he says that if I don't get it under control he's gonna have to take 'disciplinary action'."

"Oh..." Brighteyes paused, suddenly looking sheepish. Uncomfortable.

"What?" Telamon's tone was harsh, defensiveness creeping in.

"Look, babe, I love you, you know that, right?" She asked. Telamon suddenly felt like he was in an intervention

"Oh, don't tell me you think I'm being too violent, too." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, his tone defensive.

"Well, I didn't want to say it to your face, but... Yeah, you kind of have been." She pushed back, looking away from him.

"Oh, am I too fragile to handle your complaints?"

"You're certainly acting like it."

"I don't need you to coddle me! I can handle myself." He raised his voice, loud enough to draw glances from tables quite a ways away from them.

"I'm not trying to coddle you! You are scaring people!"

"What's so wrong with that?? We're admins!! They should be scared of us!" He leaned closer. She leaned back.

"No they shouldn't!! We are supposed to protect them, and take care of them!"

"From what? Themselves?? They're the ones causing the problems!!" His face began to slowly turn red, the muscles in his face aching as he yelled. Even more heads turned.

"I'm not dealing with this today." Brighteyes relented, folding her arms in front of her chest. "This was supposed to be a nice dinner. Why'd you have to bring your sour attitude here too?"

"You started it!" He argued back

"It isn't just that, Telamon! You are so goddamn negative about every. fucking. thing. It's so exhausting to deal with!"

"Well if I'm so damn exhausting why don't you just leave?"

"That's exactly what I plan to do." She glared at him, grabbing the purse hung over the chair as she stood up, before storming off out of the restaurant.

Telamon sat there fuming, as the weight of the argument finally set in as he realized how many eyes were on him. Did Brighteyes just break up with him?

Frantically, he reached for his phone, sending a barrage of messages with every apology he could think of, then switching to blaming anything but himself, back to apologizing, in tandem with the swirling pit of fear and anger forming in his gut. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He flagged down a waiter to pay for what little they ordered, before leaving the restaurant with a cloud of shame over his head and burning into his back.

He felt the anxiety creep into every muscle in his body as he made his way home, creating a sickeningly tight feeling in his chest. Checking his phone every few minutes, only to see she had read the messages at least 10 minutes ago. Tears fell down his face as he made it home, tearing off the tie that felt like it was choking him as he made his way inside, clutching a heart that felt like it was collapsing.

An hour that felt like an eternity passed before he finally heard a message, frantically checking his phone to see what Brighteyes said. His eyes frantically glided over every word.

'I need some space.

I love you, I really do, but I need some time to think. If that display at the restaurant is how you are going to be in our relationship, I don't want any part of it. The texts you sent after further cement that for me. You have issues, and I'm not going to step in and be the one to try and fix you. That isn't fair to either of us. Perhaps, at another time, we could be happy together, but that time isn't now. Please do not contact me until you are willing to actually make those changes.’

Telamon felt his heart shatter with each sentence, as teardrops fell onto his phone screen. They hadn't even been together for 6 months, and he already ruined it. It hurt like hell, tiny daggers stabbing into every inch of his body. He set his phone down and walked to his bed, collapsing into it as sobs wracked his body. He ruined everything.

He needed to change but he didn't know how. There had to be something but he just couldn't find it. What was he supposed to do about something ingrained so deeply into him? How was he meant to take himself apart and put himself back together in a way that didn't leave everyone around him miserable?

The answer had to be out there.

He just needed to figure out where.

Chapter Text

Ugh...

Telamon groaned, wings shielding his eyes from the light pouring in through a gap in his curtains, streams of golden light running along his bedroom floor. Acid stung the back of his throat, as he blinked away the drowsiness in his eyes, but couldn't get rid of the dryness. He sat staring at the foot of his bed for a few moments, before looking over at the digital clock resting next to a lamp he rarely used. 5:48, 45 minutes before his alarm usually went off.

With a sigh, he swung legs over the side and stood up, wincing at a crick in his neck as he stretched. He was still in his clothes from that disaster of a date, only more wrinkled than they were the night before. Walking over to an absurdly large walk-in closet—which was only half filled—he pulled out a silk bathrobe in a blood-red color and began changing. A painful indent lined his waist where his belt was, the skin flushed an almost orange color. It would pass, but it certainly wasn't pleasant.

Telamon went to grab his phone, opening it to find it at 3%. Ugh.

Sulking into the kitchen, he grabbed an overpriced coffee pod and placed it into his coffee maker. More golden light cascaded over the living room, and bled into the kitchen. He leaned over the island countertop as the machine whirred, a hideous noise as an overwhelming scent filled the room that felt like it was burning the inside of his nose, and—due to the open concept design—filled every other goddamn room attached to it.

After what felt like an eternity, the coffee was finally done, which he had to refrain from chugging for fear of burning off every taste bud on his tongue. Instead, he cradled the mug in his hand as he walked over to his home library.

Each shelf was lined with books he bought but never ended up reading. Each new impulsive purchase added to an ever expanding list of pages that would remain unread. As his eyes scanned the shelf, they landed on a section of books that seemed particularly relevant.

'Anger Management'

Telamon had 3 separate books on the topic, each a separate gag gift from one of the admins—although Dusekkar may not have been joking when he gifted it to Telamon—which never made Telamon laugh. Perhaps it was proving their point?

With nothing better to do, he grabbed one of the books off the shelf, the paperback cover smooth, and shiny. Bold yellow text was emblazoned on the cover, formatted almost like a gossip magazine with the amount of text covering it. Making a quick trip across the hall, he tucked himself into the large leather chair in his office, and took a sip of his coffee, before opening up the book to the first page.

Skipping over pages of copyright information, dedications, and authors notes he couldn't give two shits about, he began reading through the introduction. Whispering cynical comments under his breath, he skipped ahead any time the passage became too pretentious for his liking. Skipping more and more text as it went on, Telamon eventually decided to flip to the true first chapter.

'Patience.'

He hurled the book across the room.

The book landed with a slap against the tiled floor as Telamon chugged the rest of his coffee, opting to deal with the burnt taste buds and anxious pangs in his chest instead of reading another word of that slop. He slammed the mug down on the desk as he stood up to grab the book off the floor.

As he bent over to pick up the waste of paper, his eyes drifted to a box tucked away next to his filing cabinet. It was one he had all but forgotten about. It was only kept for the other admin's sake. If no one else had cared, he would have already tossed them. Opting to ignore the book, he walked over and fished it out of the corner it had been collecting dust in. Opening it up, Telamon saw a variety of cream colored folders, and sheets of paper.

Telamon's interest had been piqued, and began sifting through it, old memories flooding through his mind as he read them. Old ideas for Robloxia, various different experience concepts, etc. Buried beneath all those sheets of paper, however, was a book he had completely forgotten.

The Necrobloxicon

Leather-bound, and ancient. It exuded an ominous energy, as he almost felt cold as he picked it up, like it drained the warmth from his calloused hands. The leather backing was black, with runes inscribed in bright red. Silver adorned the corners, scuffed at the edges from being handled haphazardly. It looked fragile, yet hadn't suffered any noticeable damage from Telamon handling it—or his lack of handling for that matter.

It had been entrusted to him centuries ago, to keep it out of reach of mortals wracked with hubris, poisoned with a thirst for vengeance, or craving a taste of the power the admin's wield. Telamon was, and still remains, skeptical of it's power. How could a book hold power over life and death? The notion was ridiculous. That was a power not even the admins held—at least not to the extent it was rumored the Necrobloxicon held—and some measly book was able to do that?

Various warnings ran through his mind as he kneeled on the floor with the relic in his hands. Each horror story he was told about the negative effects played through his mind. Could that have really happened? It seemed so absurd. A book of unknown age, and origin, that allows anyone to play God cannot be real. Could it?

As he stared down at the cover, he felt the urge to open it grow by the second. Open. Open. Open.

Just one peek couldn't hurt. Right? He was an admin, he wouldn't be corrupted by it. He was better than that. He thought as he hesitantly opened the cover to a random page.

'Unwanted Emotions as a Sacrificial Energy Source'

The sound of his alarm clock blaring in his bedroom broke him out of his trance that forced his eyes to trace the words, as he dropped the ancient text. He suddenly felt sick, a wave of nausea and lightheadedness hitting him in waves. In a panic, he kicked it under his desk, before rushing to his room to turn off that god awful noise. The alarm going off meant he had an hour before he had to get to work.

With the coffee part over with, he now had to actually do something productive instead of barely trying to read an anger management book, and going down a nostalgia trip. Telamon went through the motions of making breakfast, opting to make the easiest meal possible. He really should hire a chef soon.

The longer it went on, the more things seemed to go wrong. He groaned, frustration slowly taking hold of him the longer he spent in this kitchen. Dropping the cooking spray on the ground—the sound of which made him want to rip his ears out—hitting his head on the island when he was picking up the cooking spray, somehow getting the belt loop of his robe caught on a drawer handle, each one made his blood pool in his fists. He felt like such a child for it, but he really wanted to throw a temper tantrum.

Just making breakfast made him want to punch a wall, but it tasted decent enough to keep him from making his day infinitely worse to satisfy his quickly shortening fuse.

Taking a shower was similarly infuriating, as the water made his grip worse. The bottles slipping out of his hands was another log thrown onto a quickly growing fire. Walking out of the bathroom, he slipped on the water, struggling to keep himself upright for a good 10 seconds before he got his bearings. Standing in the middle of his bathroom in silence, dripping wet, as he seemed to tick closer and closer to exploding. Staring at himself in the mirror, as water dripped pathetically out of his limp curls.

'Patience'. That's what the book said, right? He could be patient. He could flatten cities, and eradicate millions if he so wished. Patience wasn't going to be what bested him. He'd heard people tell him to take a deep breath before. That might work. Clenching his fists—and taking a deep breath—he stomped out of the bathroom, ripping a towel off the rack as he left.

Moving with conviction, he dried his hair quickly, nearly ripping out a few strands as he threw the towel on the ground once he entered his room. He donned a set of robes he had many copies of, the same black and gold he always wore. It wasn't often he could find clothes that could accommodate the wings protruding from his back without it being an awkward hole cut into the back, maybe a panel of fabric to cover it if he was lucky. They looked great either way, truly showing his divinity. Those Robloxians needed to know where he stood above them.

No matter what, he wouldn't let them get under his skin like that again, for nothing if not out of spite. They didn't deserve that kind of reaction out of him. They would respect him. Those mortals didn't have a choice.

•☒ ═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════ ☒•

Arriving at the same horrifically sanitized corporate hellscape was not a fun experience. Just seeing the building pissed him off, but they couldn't know that. He kept a smile on his face, no matter how forced it was. Hopefully the hood would keep his eyes in enough shadow to make it less obvious. Maybe even a wave here or there would help? Or would that be too friendly?

He felt rooms people go quiet as he walked by, heads turning to stare, before whispering things when they thought he was too far to notice. They wouldn't even smile and wave back when Telamon waved at them. They just averted their eyes and walked a few steps faster. Such ungrateful scum. Making his way to his office, he noticed a certain someone lurking outside of it. Telamon could recognize those antlers anywhere.

"Oh. Hey Matt." Telamon spoke, his demeanor losing its formality in the presence of someone of equal status.

"You seem quite cheerful for someone in your predicament." The sorcerer responded, posture straight with his arms folded behind him.

"Wow. Ok. Geez. 'Hello' would suffice." Telamon shot back, caught off-guard by Dusekkar's bluntness. "What do you mean, though? What predicament?" Dusekkar raised an eyebrow at him. Clearly he wasn't fooled by Telamon's attempt to play dumb.

"Did you seriously forget so soon? I would have thought such a public breakup would stick in your mind for much longer." Telamon felt his heart drop into his stomach at Dusekkars words, as a prickling sense of shame followed close behind.

"You uh... You heard about that, huh?"

"It was quite difficult not to. One of the patrons recorded it"

"Fuck" Telamon mumbled under his breath as he opened the door to his office. Dusekkar followed behind.

"Builderman is not happy about it."

"Yeah, I didn't think he would be." Annoyance flared in his mind as he snapped at Dusekkar.

"I could recommend you to an anger management specialist." The man seemed completely unfazed by Telamon's outburst, likely due to their years of shared history. Telamon let out a hollow laugh.

"I don't need a shrink, alright? I'm working on it."

"Alright. Well, it's not bad to ask for help. You'll only hurt more if you let it fester." Clear concern hinted in his monotone voice

"Can you just drop it, Matt? I'll figure it out." He huffed as he took a seat at his desk. "Totally off topic, it's just been on my mind lately, do you remember the Necrobloxicon?"

"Yes. You were entrusted with it, correct?"

"Yeah. I was going through old files and saw something mentioning it." He lied. It wasn't like Dusekkar needed to know he just shoved it in a box and forgot about it, right? He could handle something going wrong with it. "What was so dangerous about it?"

"You shouldn't mess around with magic of that nature, Telamon. It is far too dangerous."

"I'm not gonna mess with it! I just wanna know." Dusekkar squinted at him through gold rimmed glasses, and sighed.

"Well, not everything is known about it. Builderman was the first to use it's spells."

"Really? I thought Builder hated necromancy."

"That book is why, although he has never shared the exact reason with me." Telamon hummed in response, taking mental notes.

"Perhaps I could ask about it."

"I would not recommend it. It is a sore subject."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. He knows me!"

"If you are so insistent, I will not stop you." Dusekkar replied, stepping back towards the door. "Keep your ego in check, Telamon. Don't fly too close to the sun. I do not want to see you crash and burn." He stated, before leaving, shutting the door before Telamon could properly get a reply in. He was oddly closed off... Regardless of how guarded Dusekkar's answers were, it was a good lead. It seems Telamon would have to go right to the source.

•☒ ═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════ ☒•

Telamon sauntered up to Builderman's office, arms folded behind him. He swung the doors open without knocking and stepped inside, giving a wave to the man himself, who sat on the phone with a tense expression. After waiting for a few minutes through a one sided conversation, Builderman put the phone down and turned to Telamon.

"Can I help ya, Telamon?" Builderman already sounded annoyed.

"Oh, I just wanted to visit."

"Y'aren't gonna to blow up at me like you did Brighteyes?" Telamon groaned at that.

"I'm working on it!"

"I certainly hope so, that spectacle was embarrassin' to watch."

"I just wanted to talk! We're buds, right?" Telamon said with an exaggerated smile, as he took a seat across from Builderman.

"Unfortunately, yes." He replied, evidently in a slightly better mood than the day before.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Telamon asked, dramatizing his offense.

"Take a guess." Builderman said with a slight smile. "So, what is it ya wanted to talk about?"

"Well, I was doing some sorting through some files, and I stumbled upon mentions of the Necrobloxicon." Builderman's smile fell to a grave expression, as his demeanor stiffened.

"That book is off limits."

"I know, I know! I just... Want to know what I'm holding onto,"

"This won't solve your anger problems."

"I'm not going to use it! I promise." It could do that? "I want to make sure I guard it properly. That's why you gave it to me." His words seemed genuine, despite being poisoned with deceit. With misguided trust, Builderman acquiesced, albeit with a sigh. It certainly was useful being friends with the man in charge

"Well... It's an ancient artifact. Not even I'm aware of where it came from. It sort of just... Appeared."

"Huh, that's weird. Did you use it?"

"Yes. It’s magic is potent, but it's effects are disastrous."

"How so?" Telamon asked, intrigued by the mentions of its effectiveness. He wouldn't ask how it was used. He had to make sure Builderman kept talking.

"It requires a sacrifice to work, but it always takes in ways you don't anticipate." Telamon nodded along, encouraging Builderman to continue. "It can drain life from the environment, it can steal parts of yer body, it can even steal emotions and memories. It seems to be able to peer into yer thoughts, and respond to yer desires. It's almost sentient in that way."

"Do you think it's... alive?"

"Maybe. Perhaps one day we could truly test it, but it's far too dangerous as of now. I can't risk destroying what we've built for the sake of science." Coward. They could just rebuild, couldn't they?

"Hmm. Interesting" Telamon muttered to himself. "Have people tried to get ahold of it before I was entrusted with it?"

"People still do. No one except the admins know it was entrusted to you. They still believe in the rumors about it being in some vault below HQ."

"You mean the rumor you spread over a hundred years ago?"

"I still feed into 'em from time to time. Keeps hunters off the scent."

"Wow, lying to the people, Builder? How could you." Telamon snarked, managing to achieve a chuckle from Builderman, as he leaned back in his chair.

The conversation eventually trailed off to other topics, with the decision to steer away from the book. Near the end, Telamon was beginning to tune the conversation out, only staying to make sure he didn't look too suspicious. After Builderman decided he had overstayed his welcome, he sent Telamon back out to do his work.

The rest of the day was as boring as it usually is. Mortals seemed to get more demanding by the day, and each task was similarly infuriating. Telamon was above this idle work, wasn't he? He had to find more people to delegate the more... Lowly tasks to. He had better ways to use his time.

Counting down the minutes until he got home was soul sucking, but worth it. Moving with purpose, he made his way home as quickly as possible. He didn't have room in his mind to complain to himself about the interior of his home, instead beelining straight towards his office.

He fished the book out from under the desk, wiping off some dust that got onto the back cover, and stared down at the cover in apprehension. The same urge to open it flooded him again, making him feel as though his hands were almost stuck to the book. He sat down at his desk, before opening it once more.

It immediately opened to the same page as it did that morning, and let his eyes trace the words without interruption. The words seemed to draw him further and further into the text, a perfect way to fix his problem. Quick, easy, and, hopefully, painless. It would be an easy way to test if the book even worked, as well! He wasn't trying to destroy anything, it would be fine.

He couldn't just make his emotions vanish into thin air, but he could find a way to release them.

A home for the emotions he didn't want.

A vessel.

A personification of his hatred.

Chapter Text

Three months had passed since Telamon read the ritual contained within the Necrobloxicon. In theory, it would be perfect. The words passed through his mind as he worked, keeping him distracted enough to not have another incident. The only thing preventing him was the fear of getting caught.

In the time since, piles of paper were tossed, each smeared with ink and graphite, different plans for how to conduct this ritual. Potential coverups, each with their own flaws that led to them being scrapped. It took up all of his free time, his brain constantly working to figure out the problem.

Finally, after weeks, he decided on the perfect solution.

The best way to cover up the use of such magic—and by extension, the amount of time he'd have to pour into it—He had to create a new experience.

In the end, he decided on an experienced surrounding sword-fighting. Violent? Yes, but a perfect excuse for why his anger issues may have subsided. He was just pent up! All he needed was an outlet, and he would be perfectly fine!

The experience was fairly novel, with those exclusively about sword-fighting being hitherto non-existent. Platforms extended upwards from the clouds, stairs and pillars winding around in various directions, plates appearing and disappearing at will. It was simple, but it was a perfect distraction.

Swords scattered the area, with the goal to gather as many kills as possible. Each time one died, they would reform at one of four plates on the main platform. This wasn't some weird murder trap after all.

The others were surprised by his handiwork, as he remained secretive as to what kept him so distracted—unaware of the fact that he had not yet come up with a believable deception to his true focus. Despite that, they were pleased with his work, Builderman and Brighteyes especially so.

The Robloxians were ecstatic at the unveil of the new attraction, and, just as Telamon predicted, rushed in like a flock of sheep. Waves of people swinging swords at each other wildly, giggling like children. So easily persuaded to look at the newest thing the admins wanted them to look at, unwavering trust in the gods of their lands.

Behind the work done on a relatively simple attraction, his home renovations were being done in quiet. Hidden behind an innocuous bookshelf rested a spiral staircase, stone walls adorned with simple sconces. At the end of the staircase lay a long hall lined with a red carpets. Candle holders rested symmetrically along the crimson path, flames flickering obediently, as they paved the way to the ritual circle. The circle itself was adorned with runes, intricately placed along the floor in salt, perfectly placed.

An altar supporting a lectern was behind it, the new resting place for the Necrobloxicon. Banners hung down from the sides, artistic representations of Robloxia's history, yet left hard to see as they were shrouded in shadow. Telamon fit in perfectly, truly looking like a god descending into an abandoned temple as he stood at the altar, Necrobloxicon in hand.

Assembling the pieces, it was finally time. He stood tall, robes falling perfectly over his body, wings flared out with pride. With conviction, he read the incantation off the tattered, ancient pages.

"Dum odium per carnem et ossa mea resonat,
Effrige vitam ex solio fracto cordis mei.

Dum leges vitae franguntur et renascuntur,
Sit haec ira ex mente mea exuatur et discerpatur.

Haec incarnatio contemptus mei et mali,
Producta in luce et sanguine

Me in duas partes divide et meam

Incarnationem Odii crea."

As Telamon uttered the last phrase, a stabbing pain coursed through his head, as darkness swarmed over his eyes. Knees buckling in pain, he hunched over, clawing at his head with one hand as he wrapped his other arm around his torso. The feeling of fire seared through his nerves, every inch of his body screaming out in pain as cries of agony tore through his throat.

The salt erupted in golden light, the rays dancing across the walls. Black tendrils began to slither out of his eyes and mouth, intertwining with the salt, and turning it to a deep violet. It swirled around like a vortex, condensing in the center, just below Telamon's chest, before exploding, sending him flying backwards into the lectern.

The wood shattered from the force, splinters digging into his back, and shredding the fabric of his robes. His vision darkened, flashes of light poking at the edges, almost like stars, as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

•☒ ═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════ ☒•

Eventually, Telamon's eyes opened once more, slow and heavy, as they took in the world around him. His wings hurt like hell, probably broken from the impact, each twitch sending another shock of pain through his wings and down his back.

Managing to pull himself up into a sitting position—albeit not without more wincing and groaning—he looked around the room. The room was bathed in darkness, the candles having been extinguished from the blast.

With a sigh—and a snap of his fingers—he lit them once more. Wincing at the sudden shift in lighting, before looking around the room. Eventually, his eyes settled on a small heap in the center of the room.

Hobbling to his feet, and shaking splinters out of his definitely fractured wings, he took a few shuffling steps forward. Streaks of soot and ash splayed out on the ground around it, as he got a better look at the thing. All he saw was a bundle of fabric, and light colored fluff. Telamon froze like a deer in headlights when he saw it move.

Kneeling down and moving the fabric, he realized what was laying at his feet.

A baby.

The ritual created a baby.

In a panic, he scooped up the pathetic little thing—completely forgetting about the pain coursing through his body—and raced up the stairs to get a better look at it. He decided to stop on his bedroom, flicking the lights on, before placing the baby down on the softest thing he could think of. Unwrapping the fabric, he took in the strange thing.

Small, unfeathered wings curled around it's tiny body, with another pair sitting at it's temples, like a perfect mirror of Telamon's own. It's skin was light gray, with a combination of thin hair and downy feathers of the same color covering it's body. It's eyes were closed, but almost looked too big for it's head, the eyelids wrinkling in a way you'd see in an old man.

The weirdest part was it's torso. Completely flat, no nipples, no belly button, and no genitals. Completely sexless. Placing a hand on the baby's chest, he felt a soft heartbeat, accompanied with a strange humming sensation, more akin to a computer than a living being.

As he felt the baby's heartbeat, it's eyes slowly opened. Black beady things, glossy and unfocused, before it's face wrinkled into a horrid expression. It let out an ear piercing noise, wailing in a way that made Telamon's head throb. It's voice almost sounded static, a subtle yet harsh sound accenting the noise it made.

He picked it up again, attempting to mimic the movements he'd seen parents make to soothe their children. It didn't seem to work, as the crying continued. This is the last thing he expected to have to deal with. He wanted an easy fix, not to be turned into a father.

After a quick search on his computer—Or what would be quick, if he didn't have a newborn baby in his arms—He assembled a list of the items he would need to hopefully care for this product of forbidden magic.

Settlng the child down, he took a moment to pick splinters out of his back, digging the ones in more difficult spots out with magic. Telamon changed out of the ruined robes into more casual clothing, as well as donning a face mask, in hopes of hiding his identity. Evidently, he was easy to spot in public. One quick trip to the store, and he had as many essentials that he could think of in a short time span.

Soothing the child enough for it to fall asleep and be placed inside the bassinet he found at the store—and had to assemble while keeping an eye on a newborn—was a challenge in of itself.

When it was finally done, he slumped onto his bed with a groan, finally having a chance to bandage his fractured wings, when the thought hit him. How was going to explain suddenly having a child?

The easiest option was to just drop the kid at an orphanage and pretend nothing ever happened. The only problem was that he had no idea what kind of effects the Necrobloxicon would have on him, and the child. It was already sexless, and it's cries were horrid, even more so than the average newborn. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed this child had something off about it.

After ruminating for about an hour, he decided to get ready for bed, and deal with it in the morning.

•☒ ═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════ ☒•

After a sleepless night of feeding, and crying, Telamon decided to use up his accrued vacation time to get his affairs in order. This child was already a handful, refusing to fall asleep and crying at the tiniest thing, he didn't need to deal with work at the same time.

The next month was a whirlwind of calls and making appointments, as the child already began to grow before his very eyes. More soft downy feathers began to grow in, turning it's fleshy wings into small balls of fluff. It almost started to look cute in some places.

After a few days of waiting, Telamon ended up in a registry office, the commute taking much longer due to his wings being out of commission. He had made the decision to register the child to build a paper trail, as a way to cover up the unorthodox method used to create it. No one can argue with good old government paperwork, can they?

The building was coated in dull brown bricks, and the interior coated in similarly boring neutrals. A row of attendants sat at a long desk in the center, with clear plastic panels separating them from the customers. The sound of the air conditioner humming permeated the air, alongside the distant ticking of a presumably bland clock.

Telamon appeared without disguise, and checked in, sitting himself down in the stiff, equally dull seats. The others in the waiting room seemed to avoid him, all sitting as far as possible, eyes averted. He paid no mind, staring off into the distance, one hand tucked inside the carrier as he held a bottle of formula up to the baby's mouth. It seemed to eat properly, and was passing food normally, despite how disgusting dealing with that was. A rare moment when he got to sit quietly was a blessing on his exhausted soul. Hopefully he could dump the child onto a babysitter, but that was for later.

45 minutes later, he was called back, child carrier in hand, and sat down in the office he was led to. It's decor mirrored the lobby. Boring, uninteresting, and frankly infuriating to look at. How one could live in such washed out, under stimulating conditions, he couldn't quite understand.

"Hello, sir." The clerk stated, holding his hand out for Telamon to shake, to which he promptly ignored, sitting down across from the clerk. Slightly offended, the clerk sat down as well. "So, you are registering this child here, correct?"

"Yes."

"Is the mother present?"

"No, I don't know who the parents are, it was abandoned on the street. I found it only a couple weeks ago. I want to adopt it. I have all the necessary files here." Telamon replied, sliding a stack of papers, and pale yellow folders across the desk.

"Did you file a report of the child's abandonment?"

"Yes, the copy is in there." The clerk nodded at Telamon's statements, flipping through the papers, humming.

"Unfortunately it seems your identification just went out of date yesterday, you will need to get that updated before we can go ahead with this."

"Excuse me? I did not go through all this work scheduling an appointment while dealing with a fussy newborn just for you to tell me one stupid thing is out of date by a day. You lot wouldn't let me get an appointment any earlier than this."

"I'm sorry sir, rules are rules. For this child's safety, I can't do that." Telamon sighed as he stood up, movements robotic, staring down at the man with intensity.

"Rules? Tell me..." He eyed the desk for a name placard. "Mr. Darrow. Who is it that makes those rules?" The clerk seemed to shrink under Telamon's gaze as he stepped around the desk.

"The uh... Admins do, sir. That's why the expiration date matters." Darrow retained some professionalism, despite the anxiety seeping through in his hesitation.

"And what am I?" Telamon's tone was condescending, mouth twisting into a strained grin.

"An admin."

"Exactly. Certainly you can make an exception." He spoke with the cadence of a parent disciplining a misbehaving child.

"I can't just do that, sir. I-I'll lose my job. I have a family." Telamon scoffed in response to the clerk's pleas. With a flick of his wrist, the text on the page shifted, changing the expiration date, and a sword materialized in Telamon's other hand. Darrow's eyes widened, and leaned back away from Telamon as much as his chair would allow.

"How about we strike a deal. You look the other way about the expiration date, get this filed for me," Telamon raised the sword up to Darrow's neck as he paused. "Then I'll let you keep your head, and, since I'm feeling oh so generous, I'll make sure you keep this pathetic excuse of a job. Does that sound fair?"

"Of course, sir! Perfectly fair!" The clerk's face twisted to an anxious smile, words rushed and frantic, as he scooted closer to his desk to continue filling out paperwork.

"Good, good." Telamon replied, patting Darrow's head like a dog, before returning to his seat. He sat with his legs crossed, perched like a hawk, with the sword placed in his lap. Watching every frantic movement and nervous fidget with a keen eye, making sure he never stepped out of line.

The baby, somehow sensing the tension in the room, began screeching once more, further stressing out Darrow. It seemed even louder than before, causing Telamon to press his wings against his head to muffle the noise. He could hardly take another day of this, but he couldn't dump the child at an orphanage, as much as he wanted to. Reaching for the carrier, he attempted to soothe it once more, allowing the infant to grasp onto his clawed finger.

It's hands were so tiny, with small talons—similar to Telamon's—that had already left stinging scratches on his hands and arms. It seemed to work for the time being, as he, in the chaos of trying to scramble to take care of a newborn infant, somehow forgot to buy a pacifier for this tiny crime against nature. The clerk paused to smile at the child, before quickly looking away when Telamon noticed his distraction.

He waited and waited for what felt like hours before the clerk finally finished.

"Alright, everything is in order. All that is needed is the child's name and then I can get that printed." Darrow said, looking at Telamon expectantly.

"Hmm. I think I'll name them...

1x1x1x1"