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Ant had always been sharp.
Technoblade saw it early, the way his child moved, their eyes tracking any seen weakness in their opponent. The Blood God had gifted them a fighter, and Techno encouraged Ant to use that gift without hesitation.
The problem was his anger.
It lived in Ant’s ribs like a caged animal pacing, snarling, throwing itself against bone. A drumbeat pulse that drowned out his own heartbeat. Something feral he couldn’t control. And the Voices fed it, whispered to it, coaxed it closer to the surface.
And it didn’t end when he grew up. It grew worse. The beast got bigger, hungrier, louder. And when his childhood best friend, Violet, betrayed him, uttering the same words that Elizabeth had when he was a teenager, “You were never my friend, you were only a weapon to me,” the cage shattered.
The words hit like a match to gasoline. The same words. The exact same words.
The rage took over. The beast broke free, all teeth and claws and blind fury. The Voices weren’t whispers anymore; they were a roar, a chorus screaming in his skull, drowning out everything else. Blood. Weapon. Prove them wrong. Prove them right. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
He attacked even though he knew he was stronger. Even though he knew he would win. But when she was on the ground, only half a heart remaining, he just stared at her, the sword hovering over her; he couldn’t finish the final hit.
He wasn’t a violent person. He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t a monster. If he took her last life, that’s what everyone would think about him.
But the beast in his ribs was still there. Still pacing. Still hungry.
He let her go. Watching as she ran back to her house, contemplating.
He isn't a bad person. He doesn’t know why he’s so Violent.