Warnings: My first story.
He was born a weapon, used by his father, forged to be the strongest by his mother.
And he was.
He soon accepted that a weapon is not loved but respected and feared by those who stood against it.
And he was.
To be trained in any way imaginable by the best showed him what be was supposed to be.
And he was.
That the wounds of his training healed scarless, did not mean he could not be scarred.
And he was.
When the half-breed was born he was supposed to be jealous because he could not understand the love his brother received for he never got any love.
And he was...
The moment his father's limp body hit the ground he should have been indifferent.
But - he wasn't.
The human child was not born to wake compassion in him. He should have been unconcerned.
But he wasn't.
He should have been happy to have his lost arm back - should have been happy to finally surpass his great and terrible father - should have been happy to become the strongest weapon there is, granted to hold the strongest weapon there is.
But then again, he never was.