Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You were never meant to exist.” Spat out the fallen god, having been forced onto his knees. Once gorgeously preened rich brown wings were matted and clipped. Blood oozed from his lips, his shadowed eyes held a glare.

“But here I am.” A dark hand gripped the handle of his blade. “You made me into hatred. Telamon.”

After all these years, a back and forth, a push and pull. 1x1x1x1 felt no satisfaction at the sight of his creator kneeling before him. He once believed that this was the key to end all his hatred and hurt. But all he felt was pity. Pity at the sight before him. The once mighty Telamon, a thorn at his side since his creation, on his knees and weak.

Pathetic.

1x1x1x1 expected there to be a screaming battle between him and Telamon. But it was nothing of that sort. He felt a strange sense of calm, something that he hasn’t felt in many, many years. Decades. A long, drawn out calm.

“Why did you do this to me?”

Telamon looked up at the manifestation of his hatred weakly, a cough leaving him.

“To rid myself of unnecessary setbacks.”

The cold, hard truth. That's what Telamon always did. Only did.

“I hate you.”

“I know you do.” Telamon whispered. His lips curled into the faintest shadow of a smile. And then, silence.

It made his blood bubble and boil in his blackened veins, not even close to the Robloxian he once was. It felt as if his vessels were to pop and spray a fountain of his blood. Hatred, a common feeling he feels nowadays. Telamon though, always made him hate, even more.

With a flick of his wrist, a vertical line of red formed on the god’s neck. Crimson liquid trickled out in droplets, before promptly falling forward with a thud against the debris of concrete and clay.

There was no satisfaction. No happiness, no relief.

Rain began to drip.

“Fuck you.”

Telamon, being his one and only reason for moving forward. Whether it be good or bad, was gone. 1x1x1x1 had done it, killing Telamon. The mighty god. And so, what now? What left is there for him but the banlands? He’s been so obsessively focused on killing his creator that…

…

It's no matter now.

Chains bind him as he walked down the aisle. Cheers and roars at his capture.

This was it for him. Damned from the start.

“What a pathetic life I’ve lived.”

Chapter Text

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“Huh?” He flipped the book upside down and turned it over before flipping it back. “That’s it? That's seriously it?!” Shedletsky chewed on the bone of his demolished fried chicken drumstick with a dumbfounded stare. That couldn’t possibly be the end, could it? How could that even be considered an ending! 

“The God & The Virus” a novel that has been keeping Shedletsky occupied for quite some time while he gorges on fried chicken from his favorite restaurant. He needed the calories anyways, being a top swordfighter in SFOTH. Damn near paradise when he can have time to himself that isn’t reporters yammering in his ear about everything and nothing. 

The novel had completely enamored Shedletsky. The best thing he’s ever read, other than the ending. But the author’s name never showed up even as he tried looking them up for more of their works. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing and Shedletsky was forced to scrape by with what he had.

“Man, fuck Telamon. None of that would’ve happened if he was a better dad.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. In a nutshell the novel was just screaming daddy issues. 

Reaching for another drumstick, a sudden tightness making his hand shake. Shedletsky clutched his chest, furrowing his brows at the odd feeling before shaking his head and brushing it off. He continued. “1x deserved better than that deadbeat..geez. Even I’d do better. And I’m not even dad material! I’m like… that weird uncle at the barbecue that your mom tells you to stay away from.” Letting out a groan and sinking into the cushion of his sofa, Shedletsky just couldn’t get over the ending. All that buildup, character building, world building, the lore, the plot. All of that, just for it to end like this. And the author is nowhere to be found and nobody has ever once recognized the book from anywhere.

“Well, they're all missing out.” He shrugged, still talking to himself and nobody in particular. 

Glancing away, and to a familiar sight of a sword, Shedletsky let out a low hum. That right there, that very sword that gleamed in the light, perfectly polished and smooth, free of scratches, is his beloved sword. He takes great pride in his skill to maintain it and its intricate patterns. 

A grin broke out on his lips before turning away and back to the book. Shedletsky stared at the cover for a moment, taking in the appearance of the two main characters. Telamon’s hooded and winged figure, looming above with golden and almost divine-like light seeping through the clouds behind him. And below him, stood 1x1x1x1, hand engraved around the handle of the Daemonshark. A red ominous glow and hints of nuclear green. The cover painted 1x1x1x1 as this sort of monster, with Telamon above and being depicted as something the opposite.

The novel had said otherwise. Looks can be deceiving.

Shedletsky snorted, tossing the book down beside the half-empty chicken bucket. “Yeah, deceiving my ass,” he muttered, snatching another drumstick. “They make Telamon look all noble and righteous when he’s just a deadbeat who couldn’t raise a kid. Even I’d do better—and that’s saying something.”

The bone pile beside him had grown into a miniature fortress, greasy monuments to his gluttony. He sank his teeth into the crispy skin, humming at the taste, oil glistening on his lips.

Then, it hit him.

A sharp, stabbing weight pressed into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. His grin faltered, grease-slicked fingers dropping the drumstick.

“…huh?”

The pain surged like fire. He staggered, clutching his chest, gasping as his knees buckled. His beloved sword gleamed from across the room, watching silently while its master crumpled.

“This… is so…” His vision blurred, breath hitching. “…stupid.”

The world tilted sideways. The last thing he saw was the novel’s cover staring back at him from the table—Telamon’s divine glow, 1x1x1x1’s ominous shadow.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

—He startled with a gasp, his hands clutching his chest as he gulped for air like a dehydrated man. Shedletsky’s eyes were as wide as saucers. What just happened? What was that? Was it all just a dream? 

Feeling disoriented, Shedletsky sat up on his bed while his wings ruffled in discontent. “Haa…” He ran his fingers through the brown curls of his hair before he paused.

His head practically snapped as he caught sight of them — four massive brown wings flaring from his back, feathers ruffling like they had a mind of their own. Another pair drooped uselessly at the sides of his head.

“HUH?! When—when did I—?!” He spun, jaw hanging open.

You become what you eat…? His brain helpfully supplied. He smacked himself. “No. Absolutely not.”

But then something didn’t seem right again! 

“What on Robloxia am I wearing right now..” Shedletsky couldn’t be sure if he was kidnapped or if he was going delirious. He was in some sort of fancy pants robes and sitting in a silken bed with top notch materials that even Shedletsky never had his hands on before. Though, seeing as he wasn’t chained up by anything, he jumped off the bed with as much grace as a penguin does when flopping onto the icy surface and stumbled towards the long vertical mirror that seemed far too conveniently placed for it to be normal. 

It was no matter, he had much more pressing matters at hand.

Gripping the sides of the gold rimmed mirror, Shedletsky stared back at the face that mocked him. His eyes twitched, and his wings fluttered. The familiar face of Telamon stared straight back at him.

“…Are you fucking serious?!”

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Apparently, after thinking he had gone mental for a short while. He was now inhabiting the body of Telamon, the grand-ass-god of Robloxia who was a shit father to his own creation. Shedletsky stared at the famous sword, the Illumina, with an almost longing. This was hell, literal hell. He had pinched his arm multiple times, hit his head against the wall, nothing. This was no dream. Was it an exploiter playing tricks on him? He doesn’t think there even is an exploiter who can create illusions this good but what could even be the cause of this?

Shedletsky deliberately ignores the flashback of him devouring multiple buckets of fried chicken.

Slapping the sides of his face, Shedletsky forces himself back to reality. “Okay, okay. Wings. Robes. Sword. This is fine. This is fine. I’m not dead, I’m… something else.” That something was the very character who he mocked endlessly while reading the novel. “But if I’m Telamon, that means… oh crap. I know how this story ends.” Rather dramatically, Shedletsky slides down onto the floor like a noodle with his face buried in his hands. Death, angry kid, everyone loses. 

He shakes his head frantically at that. “Nope. Not me. Not happening. I just have to—uh—figure this out before someone decides to stab me.”

Standing up like he wasn’t just on the brink of an existential crisis, Shedletsky makes his way to a wooden desk. It looked very, very expensive. Only the best for Telamon, he supposed.

He has a lot of work to do. So he has to make a list! Yes, a list. A list for him to remember big plot points. He doesn’t even know what time he’s in in the story. He could be at the end of the novel, the middle, or the beginning or even far before the novel even begins. He has no clue whatsoever but he can worry about that later.

To-Do:

1. Don’t die.

2. Avoid angry kid (1x).

3. Maybe… feed angry kid? 

4. Figure out where in the plot I am. 

5. Seriously, don’t die.

Clicking his tongue, Shedletsky wants another bite of chicken…

Shedletsky had completely forgotten the most important part. Telamon’s fucking kid! And he mocked the guy for being neglectful and here he is, practically rewriting history.

The moment he finished his short list, he hurried out of the room and searched around. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Shedletsky has many words to say to the architects, because this home was a damn maze. “Who the hell designed this place? Escher? Where’s the front door, in Narnia?” 

The home looked more like a temple than anything, which would be fitting since Telamon IS a god after all. The marble walls and stone pillars littered over the home as he wandered through the halls with a sense of familiarity. A familiarity that felt foreign. It was probably from Telamon, muscle memory and all. Although Shedletsky had read the novel, there were no pictures. Only descriptions.

The home was gorgeous. It could be displayed in a museum, that's how intricate everything looked. But in a sense, lonely. The home was empty, devoid of any life, keepsakes, nor voices. It was like a beautiful cage for a bird, isolating. 

“This is the home Telamon raised 1x in?” He muttered under his breath, in disbelief. He could never imagine himself living in a space like this, ever. Though he scoffed at his own words, “psh. Raise? He didn’t do anything.” Shedletsky sighed heavily, before reaching a dining room. A long table, fit for many guests but not a single soul in sight.

Shedletsky felt like he was going insane with how this house was built.

Though, he had other priorities. “First things first…find the kid…if he’s still a kid I don’t know.” He nibbled at his nails as he searched every nook and cranny before stopping at a garden. And there 1x was.

Shedletsky was a bit blown away. He wasn’t even sure if that was the same 1x1x1x1 he knew from the novel. The kid looked like—well, a kid! No black tar skin, no red eyes, no green torso? 

The light grey hair rustled gently from the breeze as little hands plucked strands of grass from the earth with soft little hums. Very familiar wings were folded at the back, though a pale color like the boy’s hair. And there was only one pair, unlike Shedletsky who had two, and another pair attached to his head. If Shedletsky were anyone else, he’d assume this was someone else’s kid, not Telamon’s. But that thought in his head constantly told him that this was 1x1x1x1. This body of his, recognized the child.

“Telamon done fucked up if this is how 1x looked like before…all that.” Shedletsky could hardly believe Telamon was cold enough to neglect 1x! “He’s so adorable!!” Shedletsky clutched his chest, feeling a tear fall from his eye. He remembers why he always mocked and got angry at Telamon when reading the novel, and since he’s now here…

He’ll be a damn better father to that kid no matter what! And it’ll also prevent his future death. A win win! …It should be easy, right? Right?

Chapter Text

“Father, look at what I made!” A small child, no older than six, held up white, thin sheet of paper. The contents contained a scribbled mess of colorful crayons, the pigmented wax bunched up into clumps in some places, leaving it a mess. There were two drawn figures, though messy and untidy, were decipherable. One figure, the tallest of the two, was drawn as a black blob with a yellow outline. Large brown structures protruded from the back, which resembled wings. The other one, the shortest of the two, was a light grey and green mass with similarly drawn structures from the back. Both characters seemed to be holding hands, with an obvious smile drawn over their faces. 

Telamon stared at the creation before him. It was an eyesore, a waste of paper. The paper that the child had used could have been used for something far more useful and not to have colorful wax smeared over it. It could not be used anymore due to this. 

“What is this?” He then inquired, though the answer was obvious, and neither did he care.

“It's you and I!” An innocent, and yet bright smile formed on the lips of the child. A fragile happiness, and a flicker of hope into those small black beady eyes. A hope of approval, a hope for any sort of affection.

The God pressed his lips together, staring at the scribbled mess of wax and color before him before shaking his head. “It's a waste.” He told the child, “You do not use paper like that for something so…vain. Be rid of it at once, and return to your studies.” 

The bright, yet hopeful smile died. Like a withering flower. It was slow, and gradual, before a frown. 1x1x1x1’s wings dropped. The excitement, the happiness, the hope. It all shattered, and turned only to disappointment. This was normal for the child, for his creations to be discarded by his father. 

No sense of warmth, no congratulations, no…nothing. 

“Yes father.”

Telamon stared at the retreating back of his creation. He didn’t feel anything. He can't feel anything. Or at least, in the same way humans do. Though, 1x1x1x1 is not human, like him. How had the child grown to have such trivial problems such as that? The God could not understand, nor did he try to. He did not reach out to the child, nor did he call out for the child. Telamon turned the other way, their backs facing each other as both beings walked away from the other.

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Shedletsky doesn’t know why that memory suddenly came to him. But it did remind him of the relationship 1x has—or, had. With Telamon. Though 1x might be a child now, there’s no telling how far down the rabbit hole their shit relationship is. He furrowed his brows. Although Shedletsky is more of a ‘act now, think later’ type of person, he just…can’t do that now. This is delicate.

…

“Hey! 1x!” He called out with a grin, raising a hand and waving towards the child who had startled. Grey wings ruffled in shock, and those black eyes—the same as Telamon’s, had an expression that could be described as horror. Not out of fear, but because he was disturbed.

Shedletsky grinned and waved like an old friend, as if nothing was wrong. To 1x, it was monstrous. His father had never smiled at him before, much less given out nicknames or waves. If anything, to him. His father had been possessed. It was jarring to the child, disturbing and disgusting.

In an instant, 1x had fled from the garden as if his life had depended on it. His wings had flared, feathers scattering. He ran and ran and disappeared into the maze of the home, scurrying like scattering ants.

Shedletsky only paused, his hand still up, and an expression of disbelief and shock written all over his face.

“Was that not a good first impression?” He asked himself, lowering his hand and staring at it, then ruffled his own hair. “Yeah, wave like a clown, real smooth.”

He then paused. “Oh. Right.” A groan left him.

“I’m Telamon.”

Shedletsky had no clue whatsoever as to what to do now. He had completely forgotten that—well, he’s not Shedletsky anymore, technically. He’s Telamon, a god. He’s just some dude, who likes swords and fried chicken. How did he end up like this? Was it because he endlessly mocked Telamon? Was this punishment? Some divine curse?

“Yeah, great, laugh it up. ‘Ha ha, let’s see how Shedletsky likes parenting trauma incarnate.’” Shedletsky deadpanned, the temptation to just flip off the sky with his ever-so-powerful middle finger was just tethering at the edge.

 He was really questioning things now, but first things first he has to win over 1x somehow.

Still in the garden, he flops onto the grass. Though a bit roughly as his wings twitched and he felt that sharp bit of pain. He was about ready to turn himself into fried chicken with how annoying Telamon’s wings were. How did the man ever do anything with these wings? 

“Wait…” 

He sat up, his hand over his chin. His eyes then lit up.

“Fried chicken…thats right! That's exactly it!” He can bribe 1x with fried chicken! Food is always the key to the heart! Shedletsky can imagine it already. 1x1x1x1 all smiley and happy and praises Shedletsky endlessly for the delicious fried chicken. Who could say no to that? “Fried chicken is the best option. That kid won’t know what hit him, heheh…” A mischievous giggle left the grown-ass adult, which sounded less like a god and more like a kid who’d just stolen cookies from the jar.

Tapping his chin, Shedletsky formed a plan. Step one: locate fried chicken. Step two: ??? Step three: win over the kid. Easy.

And luckily for him, the world of “The God & The Virus” is quite similar to his own, minus for a few things that just did not generally exist in his own. Like the admins and moderators for example. Sure, they existed in his world but they were, robots. Not gods or living beings. Just robots. 

So hopefully for him, there were no major changes.

“Holy fuck, Telamon.” Shedletsky was going to strangle the god in any way he could. The man doesn’t even have a proper phone! Just those house phones that you click numbers into. What a boomer! Shedletsky had made his way to the very empty yet luxurious kitchen, far too large for something so empty. Checking the fridge was like opening a treasure chest. Except instead of gold, he found… flies. Just flies. Congratulations, adventurer.

Shutting the fridge door shut, Shedletsky was already growing tired of this. Sure, Telamon is a god and all. But he doesn’t eat? Like—at all? And doesn’t he have a child? Does 1x even eat? Shedletsky was about ready to jump off a cliff but he continues opening cabinet after cabinet and finding only clumps of dust and expired boxes of whatever the hell it was.

“Marble pillars, silk sheets, golden trim — but no goddamn groceries? Priorities, Telamon.”

How was he going to survive like this? How did 1x survive this?! Shedletsky felt like he was going mad! 

Telamon might be a god, but he sure didn’t live like the others. Builderman and the rest probably had their HQ bustling with life. This place? It was a museum. A mausoleum.

All a man ever asks for is some fried chicken—and that wasn’t so hard, was it? Apparently it was, considering how barren the kitchen was. It was as if Telamon was just playing house, and it irked at Shedletsky on how someone could live like this. “God or not, this is just ridiculous. And that's coming from me.” Though eventually, at some point, he found a laptop. Probably one of the only higher tech gadgets that resided in the home. 

Shedletsky immediately rummaged into its contents, the password coming to him as muscle memory as he went to search for his favorite chicken place. 

Crispy Crown.

It exists. Tears in his eyes, Shedletsky whispered, “Finally, God does love me.” Then he remembered— “Wait. I am a god now. …Still counts.” He wiped his eyes with a smile and went to their website and ordered some fried chicken buckets. Then he remembered. “Right, right. This is also for 1x, not just me.” He isn’t sure what type of fried chicken 1x would like. The kid gives him spicy vibes, so maybe spicy chicken? But what if 1x can’t handle spice? Lemon pepper chicken? Hot honey? Garlic and onion? Shedletsky racks his brain over it for a moment before just going for the classic. He can introduce other flavors to 1x later in the future.

He could already see it: 1x biting into crispy skin, eyes lighting up, maybe even smiling. Yeah. This could work. This had to work.

Chapter Text

“God Among Mortals: Telamon’s Crispy Crown Visit Shocks Robloxia.”

On ##/##/####, in a classic fried chicken joint in West Robloxia City has gone completely viral from a surprising visitor. At 1:34 PM, a man with large pairs of wings sticking in a dark grey hoodie and jeans had entered the restaurant. All would have seemed normal if the man wasn’t Telamon himself in a clever disguise amongst humans! 

Many patrons have recorded and posted pictures all over social media of Telamon picking up an order of multiple bags of fried chicken from Crispy Crown. The elusive, high and mighty Telamon, eats fried chicken? And in casual clothing? 

“I was just trying to eat my wings,” said one stunned patron, “then I looked up and saw Telamon at the counter. I thought I was hallucinating.”

Within minutes, the hashtag #TelamonEatsChicken was trending worldwide.

The restaurant has garnered much attention after Telamon’s visit, all curious to the food that Crispy Crown serves that it can even gain the favor of gods!

Click here for more!

Written by Fury 091 from Robloxia City media

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(A few moments before…)

Shedletsky had been rummaging through Telamon’s closet, only to find robes among robes. The man had zero taste, is what Shedletsky said in his mind, though biting back his tongue. Eventually though, he finds a dark grey hoodie, surprisingly. It probably didn’t even belong to Telamon, but Shedletsky didn’t care at that moment as he got rid of whatever he was wearing at the moment to put on the hoodie alongside some jeans.

“These are definitely not Telamon’s…” Shedletsky muttered under his breath. He yanked the hood up, wings awkwardly bulging underneath. “Perfect. Nobody will suspect a thing.” The clothes were…small. Very form fitting, but Shedletsky made it work. He looks great in it anyways. “What a waste, Telamon.” He shakes his head with the click of his tongue. 

Though, now he’s ready!

“Just wait a little longer, 1x! Dad’s gonna win you over with fried chicken!” It should’ve disturbed Shedletsky for how quickly he accepted his role as a father to 1x, considering how he’s never had children before and how being a parent suddenly dawned on him after getting sent here. He still doesn’t know where 1x had gone, but that's for future him to figure out. Shedletsky is going to get the fried chicken first—then he’ll go get 1x. Easy peasy.

“If I play it casual, nobody’ll notice. Just another guy in a hoodie picking up chicken.”

Shedletsky, though, deliberately ignored how Telamon’s face, often obscured by the hood of his robes, looked nearly identical to his before he ended up in this world. The thought did not sit right with him, so he ignores it in favor of focusing on the mission.

Taking his first steps into Crispy Crown felt like he had gotten hit by a huge wave of nostalgia. Although it hadn’t been very long since he had been in the restaurant, it felt like it had been forever. The familiar old-timey 1980’s radio music, the red and white tiles and the booths, the tables, and the scent of oil and chicken with all those delicious spices in the air. He missed this. 

The bell chimed as the door opened, closing with a gentle click. Nobody batted an eye at him as he walked up to the front counter. “Hello! Order for S?” He greeted the cashier with a friendly grin, the wings on the sides of his head fluttering slightly. 

“Oh, yes! Order with 5 buckets of our special honey garlic and ginger dill fried chicken and 1 bucket of our classic, yes?” The cashier flipped through the orders. Shedletsky gave an eager nod, feeling some eyes on him but that didn’t matter! Fried chicken time!

The cashier eyed him for a second, as if the giant wings sticking out from under his hoodie didn’t quite match the “S” on the order before grabbing 3 full bags of his order. “Thanks a bunch!” He chirped out, having already paid online thanks to Telamon’s bank account. It was all muscle memory that was doing the work, otherwise Shedletsky wouldn’t be able to do this.

Shedletsky marched out the door with a grin. “Flawless disguise. Nobody suspected a thing.” Behind him, the entire restaurant erupted in chatter and phones.

“Holy shit—was that Telamon?!”

“Those jeans looked great on him!”

“What was Telamon doing here??”

“Wait, isn’t Telamon a bird?”

“Was that really Telamon??”

“Is that how Telamon looks without the hood?”

“TELAMON BLESS MY CHICKEN!!”

The travel back to the home/estate/museum went by smoothly. Shedletsky felt like a master at stealth, having had not a single soul recognized him as he took the bus and walked. The trip took a while, sure. But it wasn’t too bad!

Walking back in with the haul of fried chicken ended up catching the attention of a certain someone. Usually, something so delicious wouldn’t be here, and Shedletsky could feel the pair of eyes on him as he tried to remember which way it was to the dining room.

When he arrived, finally. Shedletsky couldn’t wait to dig in. But first, he had to go get 1x. This whole trip was mostly for the kid anyways, it would be a shame if he ate first. This would be his first shared experience with 1x.

Though, already knowing the kid was lurking somewhere, having been drawn out by the scent of fried chicken.The faint sound of wings rustling in the hall, like someone creeping closer but too hesitant to step further.

Shedletsky pulled out a chair, and lounged down onto it with a dramatic, long-drawn out yawn. “Oh man! Look at all this fried chicken!” He opened the bags, taking out all six buckets of chicken. “I’d wish someone would be kind enough to help me eat all this chicken!” He pushed a bucket forward, exposing the golden brown crust and the oily greasy aroma of herbs and chicken. 

He leans back against his chair, an arm flopping over his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Oh whatever will I do~?” He cried out, “so much chicken will go to waste!” Lifting his arm subtly, he glances in the direction where 1x peaked out before he put his arm’s weight over his eyes again. 

“I guess I’ll start and try to eat my way through!” He sits back up, picking up a piece of crispy fried honey garlic chicken and took a big bite of it with a moan. “Oh my! It's so crispy, crunchy, flavorful…” He looks in 1x’s direction, “It would surely be great to share this with another person!” 

Shedletsky was really holding back here. If he were alone he would have gone through 3 buckets already, but this is for 1x! He’s going to be better than Telamon. 

“I can taste the garlic, the sweet honey…mm! It's so good!” He stands up, picking up the bucket of fried chicken he had picked out for 1x and walked aimlessly towards the direction of 1x. “Hm! This looks like a good spot to store some chicken in.” He couldn’t hold back a giddy grin. “I guess I'll place this here for now!” He places it down on the floor and walks away as if not seeing 1x. “Hmm~ oh! What happened to it? Did the rats get it?” He turned around, seeing the bucket gone suddenly and a little grey feather. Shedletsky’s eyes sparkled at that.

Hook, line, and sinker. Take that, Telamon.

“Oh well! It's okay! I still have more chicken to go around. Hopefully whoever wants more will get more!” He heads back to the dining table and sits back down, deliberately not hearing the little crunches in the hallway as he munched on his own chicken. 

A soft, small mutter under his breath, Shedletsky murmured out, almost too quietly. “…Good. At least he’s eating.”

It did concern him though. What has 1x been eating? He isn’t even sure if Telamon eats, but surely 1x needs some sort of nutrients, right? Telamon couldn’t have been that terrible, right? To forget, or to not even feed 1x? There was some food in the kitchen, all expired and dusty. So Shedletsky wasn’t sure.

He looked at his greasy fingers, the chicken bone in hand and at the chicken buckets before him. He imagines the sight of 1x, scavenging for food on his own. Either by catching rats or digging in the ground.

Shedletsky felt sick suddenly. His appetite for chicken was gone.

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He’s only ever known hatred, disappointment, and loneliness. 

Hatred that has been slowly boiling over the years as his so called father does as he pleases without even giving 1x a glance. Disappointment for every hope he’s ever had to gain some sort of affection or approval from Telamon. And loneliness. The home he lives in is huge, but empty. No servants, no other robloxians. Just him, and Telamon. He doesn’t go to school either, he’s homeschooled. So he doesn’t have any friends. The only one he can talk to is Telamon, or himself. Or the rats.

In one of his few moments of peace, without even seeing a glimpse of Telamon the whole day, he sees him. Telamon waving at him, with a grin so bright it could’ve blinded him. 

And that nickname.

This—this isn’t Telamon. There was no possible way. 

Telamon doesn’t smile. Telamon doesn’t wave towards people. Telamon doesn’t do nicknames. Telamon isn’t…

1x ran. 

He did it without thinking. What else was he supposed to do? Telamon smiling was straight up freaky and weird—to see the man he hates all smiley and bubbly like that as if nothing had happened between them. 

Making it to his room, he curls up in his blankets. Soft and warm, and his. His soft grey wings wrapped around him like a cocoon. He couldn’t understand why Telamon did that. Was he just hallucinating? Or was it some sort of trick—no, a test! It was probably a test from Telamon. But why would Telamon put that much effort into a test?

Maybe Telamon finally lost his mind. Good. Serves him right.

His small fists balled up tight under the cocoon of his wings. His heart was racing — not with fear, but with fury.

1x grit his teeth. This was annoying. He was just trying to have a peaceful day for himself. Just ONE day, that's all he asks for, and then Telamon appears acting like a fool.

Then, Telamon left. He wasn’t sure when, but he only realized once he left his room. He was home alone, Telamon leaving to who knows where. But that was fine, it was great even. 1x had the place to himself for a bit, and that was good.

When Telamon returned, however. 1x was prepared to bolt back to his room until he caught the scent of something he’s never smelled before. He wasn’t even sure how to describe it but—it smelled amazing. So good to where he couldn’t help but creep forward and hug against the pale wall. Telamon held three bags, he wasn’t sure of the contents, but the smell was definitely coming from those bags. 

Telamon didn’t seem to notice him, so he followed Telamon around to the dining room. Despite the odd behavior, 1x couldn’t help his curiosity. Telamon doesn’t know he’s here anyways, 

“Oh whatever will I do~?” Telamon cried out, causing 1x’s eye to twitch. “So much chicken will go to waste!” An arm slung over Telamon’s eyes.

1x wisely chose to not question whatever the hell Telamon was wearing. He’s used to seeing the god wearing robes or longer clothing, not…a hoodie, and jeans. 

“I guess I’ll start and try to eat my way through!” Telamon sits back up, picking up a piece of that…fried chicken? And then took a big bite of it with a noise of delight. “Oh my! It's so crispy, crunchy, flavorful…” He looks in 1x’s direction, causing the winged child to flinch. “It would surely be great to share this with another person!” 

Did he get caught? Does Telamon know? 

Telamon had looked away though, to another direction. 1x’s shoulders relaxed. Telamom was probably just looking around randomly. But why was he acting like an idiot? Telamon is more “thou thee thy” and not so—relaxed? Easygoing? It freaked the hell out of 1x but he couldn’t deny how his mouth began to water at the sight of the chicken. The crunch made him gulp.

“I can taste the garlic, the sweet honey…mm! It's so good!” He stood up, picking up a bucket of fried chicken and walked aimlessly towards the direction of 1x. “Hm! This looks like a good spot to store some chicken in.” 

1x tensed again.

“I guess I'll place this here for now!” He places it down on the floor and walks away. 

1x made his move. He snatched the bucket and hid, holding the warm cardboard bucket close to his chest. He could smell it. It smelled so good, better than anything he’s ever had before. 

“Hmm~ oh! What happened to it? Did the rats get it?”

1x gulped. Would Telamon get angry?

“Oh well! It's okay! I still have more chicken to go around. Hopefully whoever wants more will get more!”

He relaxed again. His heart pounding in his chest as a small, shaky hand picks up a warm drumstick and takes a bite. The crunch surprised him, causing him to pause. But when hearing the crunches over to where Telamon was, 1x sighed in relief and nibbled on the chicken.

It was the best thing he’s ever tasted so far. It made his eyes water, causing him to sniffle and wipe his eyes as he hugged the bucket close to him as he bit off chunks of chicken off the bone. He’s so used to running off to the city or sneaking around for food that he’s never had the chance to taste something like this. Telamon sucked at getting groceries, getting food. So 1x often had to sneak out on his own or steal leftovers from other people.

But this? This wasn’t leftovers. There were no bite marks of other people, this was whole and he had a whole bucket to himself. He stood up, stumbling slightly and covering the chicken as he ran off to his room, wanting to enjoy it in his own space.

He doesn’t know what Telamon’s game is, but he’s not letting this go. Telamon will have to rip it out of his arms himself.

.

.

.

Shedletsky can safely say things seem to be going smoothly. 1x took the chicken, ate it. And…that was about it. Shedletsky isn’t sure what else to do. He’s never had children before, nor has he babysat or knew anyone who did have kids. He has no clue as to how to get closer to 1x.

He didn’t get a good starter pack as he’s stuck with a kid who hates him and will kill him in the future if he doesn’t do something about it. The looming threat of death.

Furrowing his brows, Shedletsky stares at the fried chicken buckets that he had not yet touched after losing his appetite. He stared at it, long and hard. The smell of fried food suddenly made him feel nauseous. Too familiar. Too close.

Chest pain.

His hand twitched.

Heart rate.

He grit his teeth.

Sharp pain.

He heard white noise around him, a ringing in his ears.

Death.

There was a loud rustling noise. Shedletsky wasn’t sure, he didn’t feel present. When he came to, Shedletsky stared at the scene before him. There it was, on the floor. Scattered drumsticks and chicken thighs all over the floor. The buckets had been flown across the floor.

Shedletsky felt his heart drop at the sight. Not from the loss of the fried chicken, no. From…whatever that was. He shakes his head, ruffling his hair. 

“Don’t think… don’t think. …Besides, I’ve survived worse than chicken.” He mutters to himself, as reassurance. 

Seeing the mess around him though, Shedletsky let out a long sigh. “Look at this mess I made…” Slowly, he picked up every piece of fried chicken and placed them back into the buckets. There was no way this would be good now…right? Maybe if he peels off the crust and re-use the chicken meat then maybe it won’t all have to go to waste…

Though, in the back of his mind, lurked the reality. His reality.

…

*BANG!*

Shedletsky jumped, his heart rate spiking up as there was a pounding at the door. 

“Telamon! Open yer damn door!” Yelled out an unfamiliar voice. Even Shedletsky was shocked. Who on Robloxia would demand for Telamon like that? Though, it would be a good distraction nonetheless. 

Shedletsky didn’t worry as he headed to the door. He’s Telamon now, he should be fine if anything were to happen.

His hand wraps around the golden knob, before twisting it open, revealing a shorter, though mature looking grey-skinned man in a construction worker’s cap; wearing a dark grey zip-up sweater with a classic “Roblox” logo pasted on the left pectoral region and dark blue jeans. The man’s dark brown eyes stared up at him with an expression that was hard to read as a deep turned frown was donned, his facial hair stubble around his chin stretching to fit such a deepened drown. If Shedletsky were to guess, he’d say the expression the man had was likely exasperation—or Shock? Or even outrage.

Though…

This man seemed very, very familiar.

“You’ve got some damn explaining to do!”

Builderman?

Chapter Text

What was Builderman doing here? That was what ran through his mind continuously as the admin stared up at him, scrutinizing.

“What the—are those my clothes?” Builderman had a disturbed look in his eyes as Shedletsky sputtered out a response.

“Wait—these are yours?”

“Huh?? Yes?! I left em’ here last time in case I needed to crash.”

Shedletsky swallowed nervously. He didn’t anticipate this ever happening. He completely forgot that Telamon wasn’t just a loner (he still was), he had connections who he interacted with. And Builderman was one of them.

“Alright, well, whatever. We’ve gotta talk.” Walking in like be owned the place, he brushed past Shedletsky who choked on his saliva as he shut the door and waddled behind Builderman like a duckling.

“Uh, talk about what?”

Builderman gave him a weird look again. Shedletsky furrowed his brows slightly, what was that all about?

Letting out a heavy sigh that seemed to rattle through his bones, Builderman’s hand went into the pockets of his jeans and took out a phone. Shedletsky’s jaw dropped, even Builderman has one? And Telamon doesn’t?

“This.”

With the phone screen practically shoved in front of his face, Shedletsky squinted before a squeak left him. 

News articles. Photos. 

Of HIM.

“Care to explain?” Builderman’s face had a tired look to it.

Shedletsky stared dumbly at the phone, before taking it and began to scroll. 

“God orders 6 buckets of chicken!”

“Telamon loves chicken!”

“Is Crispy Crown that good? Telamon sure thinks so!”

“Telamon’s face revealed!”

He gulped, throat bobbing. “Uh.” Shedletsky wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or not. A part of him decided not to, guessing that Builderman would not find amusement in it. 

Builderman deadpanned. “You’ve gone viral.” 

“Yes, I can see that.” Shedletsky handed the phone back to Builderman who took it back graciously and placed it back into his pocket. “So..?” 

Sure, it was a bit jarring. And Shedletsky felt a bit bummed out since he thought his disguise was perfect—though it was probably from his poorly hidden wings if anything. But Shedletsky…doesn’t really mind it. Back in his world, he was a top fighter in Sword Fights of The Heights; he’s dealt with crowds, the media, and the nosiness of people online. He’s seen it all, considering he was a pretty controversial topic at some point with him winning a chicken eating contest…

Back to reality though, Shedletsky stared back at a disappointed Builderman. 

He gave a nervous chuckle. Before pausing.

That wasn’t very Telamon-like. No—Shedletsky hasn’t been acting like Telamon at all. Sure it was intentional with 1x, but with Builderman? Another admin like Telamon? That would for sure raise some brows. Would Builderman think he’s some sort of fake? Well—he kinda is, technically. But still!

Feeling a bit of anxiety and panic bubble in his chest, Shedletsky clears his throat. 

He tries to straighten, lower his voice, act cold and divine. “The mortals have… peculiar fascinations. Pay them no mind.” He croaked out, not very smooth and divine-like. It sounded so fake, even to himself. His lips were trembling, his eyes were shaky, and he was making weird hand motions.

Builderman gave an unimpressed look, before his eyes hardened and a hammer was materialized in his hand. It wasn’t the ban hammer—but it was a hammer and Shedletsky felt alarm bells ringing in his head right before the cold metal of the hammer head butted against his chin, tilting his head up.

There was an air of danger around Builderman now. The unamused, disappointed aura around him had dissipated into a heavy and suffocating feeling. In Builderman’s eyes, held a deep sense of suspicion.

“You aren’t Telamon.” He accused, pushing the hammer closer to where it pressed against his adams apple. “What have you done? Who are you?!” 

Shedletsky stammered. The sudden shift to hostility made him stumble back which only made Builderman tighten his grip around the hammer before he swung.

His instincts kicked in as he ducked to the left, hitting the wall before he’s dodging another swing.

“Wait! Wait— Builderman!” He grit his teeth. Builderman wasn’t letting him talk. Sure this wasn’t a good position to be in but to attack like this? Shedletsky’s brows furrowed deeply, creases forming. 

“Where is Telamon?!” The demand shook through his ribcage. The presence of another god punching Shedletsky in the gut as he desperately tries to think of a way to diffuse the situation. Then he remembers.

I’m Telamon.

Shedletsky doesn’t know how gods do it, especially Builderman. But he remembers how the hammer just seemed to—appear, materialize from thin air into his hand. If Builderman can do it, surely he can too? He’s not too bright on the idea of fighting Builderman, but what choice does he have? Shedletsky is not trying to be sent to an early grave.

He thrust out his hand, desperate for anything sharp. A blade, a dagger, a stick—hell, even a butterknife.

Sword, sword, sword…come on!!! Something! Anything!

The air rippled. Golden particles crackled into existence, fusing together until the familiar weight filled his palm. His sword. His sword, from his old world, before he woke up here.

Though, he doesn’t get the luxury of wondering how the hell his sword was here as Builderman attacks again, but Shedletsky deflects the attack. It was like a flip had been switched, Shedletsky’s expression was no longer nervous, he felt a sense of calm as a dim golden glow flickered in his dark eyes as the loud clang of metal reverberated throughout the entrance of the home.

Forward.

Shedletsky lunged forward.

Right.

He deflects a swing to his right with his sword. The metals scraped against each other like chalk on a chalkboard, causing sparks to fly and dance across the marble floor. 

There was a sort of wide-eyed look in Buildeman’s eyes, as if shocked. He expected resistance, but not this. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face as he stepped back, flipping the hammer in his hand. Those golden particles he saw when the sword materialized, it made doubts form about what he assumed.

Builderman knows how Telamon fights. But not Shedletsky. Shedletsky fights like a masterful swordsman, a honed skill from years of experience and hard work.

A few more clashes, sparks flying and slashes decorating the walls and floor. The marble beneath Shedletsky cracked. Back when he was…well, himself. He knows he was good, he knows he was skilled and powerful in the ranks. But not like this. He felt an overwhelming power; like if he swung his sword too hard, he could cut through code.

Was this the power of a god?

Shedletsky didn’t have time to think about it as he blocked another swing from Builderman. Sweat formed at his brows. Conflicted. 

Builderman though, was still deciding, calculating. It's the only reason why he hadn’t summoned the ban hammer yet.

“Telamon—he doesn’t fight like this. Who the hell are you?” He demands once more between the loud ringing in his own ears and analyzing the ‘Telamon’ before him as he increases the distance between the both of them.

“I—“ Shedletsky paused. He isn't Telamon, but he is. He inhabits Telamon’s body, but can he really say he is Telamon? Well, he doesn’t have that luxury on choosing as he has Builderman keeping him on his toes. “I am Telamon.” He answered, firmly. Then, a thought hit him. Something—something that only Telamon would know, something that’s deep guarded. Shedletsky knows the novel, he’s read it. He knows.

“1x1x1x1 is my hatred.”

Then, as if time itself stopped, everything paused. 

1x’s existence is—or was supposed to remain a close guarded secret. The knowledge of how 1x came to be is something only a select few admins know. Not just anyone can get that information, or even at all. Shedletsky can only hope that it was enough, enough for Builderman to believe him.

The hammer lowers slightly. He studies Shedletsky with a calculating glare, breathing heavy. “…Only Telamon would know that.”

He’s sweating bullets inside but forces himself to hold onto his composure. It worked. It actually worked.

“You’ve changed, Telamon. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

.

For a split second Builderman’s mind went elsewhere, a sense of remembrance, a decade ago. And back to the first time he’d heard those same words.

.

“Telamon, what are you holdin’ right there?” Inquired the other admin, Builderman as he peaked up through his mountainous stacks of paperwork. Telamon held still, a little bundle in his arms. His expression, although always passive and neutral, held a subtle tension.

The god stepped forward, his steps slow, steady, though held a certain tremor that even had Builderman worry. 

“This…” He tilted the bundle in his arms, a little grey baby with nubs where wings would soon grow. “…Is my hatred.” 

Builderman’s eyes opened wider at that.

He’s aware of the knowledge about Telamon’s secret trip to ‘cleanse’ himself. What it actually meant, Builderman was unknown to it. 

Clearing his throat, Builderman spoke. “And…what do you mean by that?” He knew Telamon wasn’t the type to mingle with humans, much less bed one. But even then, things could happen.

“Foolish behavior, I tell myself. For having tried ridding hatred from my being, only for it to manifest and take form into an infant.”

“No one can know of this.”

Is all that Builderman said.

.

.

.

Builderman left. 

It all went by in a blur, but the adrenaline rush had dissipated and Shedletsky only now realized how exhausted he was. Mentally, and physically. He doesn’t remember what Builderman said to him, though he knows the admin said something. Something that Shedletsky can’t remember no matter how much he tries.

The sword in his hand felt heavy, hanging limply at his side with his hand barely keeping its hold around the leather handle until it dissolved into gold dust, disappearing into the air.

Just as he was about to crumple to the ruined floor, chunks of marble and stone scattered and mixed into the cracks and slash marks, he heard a noise behind him. His head snapped so fast—to the direction, only to see 1x who had flinched at the sudden attention of Shedletsky.

His shoulders dropped, tension leaving. Builderman’s visit had…made him jumpy. 

1x eyed him, suspiciously. There was a curious tint in his eyes, though feeling the leftover tension of the aftermath of the fight with Builderman.

Shedletsky didn’t know what to say or do. For once, he felt lost. That he can finally admit to himself that…he doesn’t know where he’s headed. There was no use in explaining himself, nor justifying anything. He knows 1x won’t accept anything from him, he can see the silent resentment in those eyes. Far too many burdens on someone so young. 

And now that he’s really looking? 1x looked way too young. He’s used to the 1x he sees in the novel, already full of hatred and no childlike hope. He’d assume 1x was at least 8, or even 10. He couldn’t make out a good estimate for how skinny and small the kid looked.

They stared at one another for a bit. Shedletsky could see the little tremors on 1x, probably afraid in the presence of Telamon. 

He took a step forward. 1x startled, looking like he was going go bolt.

Shedletsky raised his hand up, seeing the way 1x held his breath, until he planted it right on top of 1x’s head. The rough grey strands brushed against his fingertips as he ruffled the tousled and unkept hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He murmured out quietly, the fatigue hitting him. He doesn’t know how long 1x had been watching, feeling a bit of worry inside him on the thought of 1x overhearing what he had said, or what Builderman had said.

1x didn’t show any reaction that indicated he did, but the thought still lingered as 1x froze up at his touch. 

Was that too far?

He pulled his hand away, shaky, as he tensely placed it back at his side before he crouched down onto one knee to 1x’s level. “Please go back to your room. It’ll be much more comfortable there than…here.”

The child doesn’t say anything to him, remaining glued to his spot for a heartbeat longer, staring up at Shedletsky with those unreadable black eyes before retreating down the hallway and away from the chaos.

.

.

.

That had been a very long day for his first time in this world. In the days that followed, Shedletsky tried to pretend things were normal. And so he made some changes. First off—his wardrobe. It was atrocious, and so he shoved the rest of Telamon’s robes into the back of the closet and filled the closet with clothes he normally would wear. He may be Telamon now, but he’s already fucked it up with Builderman so what else could go wrong? He knows that he has the skills to defend himself if another Builderman incident happens again.

Lounging on the sofa in some blue striped shorts and a white T-shirt that he customized to stick those massive wings through, Shedletsky stared at the sword in his hands. He still couldn't believe it was here, in pristine shape too. But it made him relieved, in a way. That he still has a piece of him.

A beat.

“Alright! No more of that!” He lets the sword dissolve as he stands up, stretching his arms with a grin. He’s been working these past few days on improving his relationship with 1x. It's been a slow process, but the kid doesn’t seem to hate him that much, at least he hopes not. But 1x at least seems to tolerate him enough that he’s fine with talking to Shedletsky and being around him, so he can count that as a win.

“Heya kiddo! Got some chicken soup in the dining room for ya!” He called out through the shut door of 1x’s room. He’s never seen the inside, nor would he try. That's the kid’s safe space, Shedletsky can understand that much as he sauntered off with purpose. 

Chicken soup heals everything, right? That’s how it works in RPGs at least.

He’s grown somewhat used to the layout of the home, still getting lost at some points but it was better now that he has a usual route to follow when needing to get to places in the house. The front door area had to go through some rough renovations, and much to his disappointment, it was all marble again. Maybe he should’ve said something. Too late now.

Shedletsky, though, ponders on what else he could do for 1x. Sure they’re on speaking terms but there's always that air of mistrust around 1x that he needs to break down. It's all to prevent his future death and all.

Walking to the kitchen, he catches a glimpse of 1x lurking down the hall and to the dining room. Shedletsky had made it his life’s mission practically to make sure 1x had something to eat. That meant grocery shopping. Although Shedletsky is no chef, he can carry a meal somewhat decently; and now that he has responsibilities for 1x, he’s gonna have to learn sooner than later. 

Placing the lid over the pot and turning the heat off, he let out a long yawn, sounding like a dying pig. Exiting the kitchen, he joins 1x in the dining room as the kid sips the broth. He watches 1x for a moment before looking away. Sometimes he gets hit with a cuteness overload which caused him to want to squeeze 1x, but he holds back. It just reminds him of his goals—if he can improve their relationship and prevent his future death, then he can freely squeeze 1x all he wants. In a non-threatening way. 

He can safely say that he’s doing a much better job than Telamon ever could. And he’s even surprised himself that he’s doing this well. 

“So…” He starts, glancing at 1x before looking away. “What’d you do today kid?” 

1x paused, his hold on his metal spoon tightening ever so slightly before taking another sip of the chicken broth. “Study. Read a bit.” He shrugged. “Nothing much.” 1x never looked up when he answered, eyes glued to the bowl.

“Oh!…nice?” Studying? Reading? Nothing wrong with those at all—it was just odd. To Shedletsky. 1x is a kid and shouldn’t kids be doing kid things? Like— what kid voluntarily studies?

He does faintly remember some lines from the novel mentioning 1x and studying. What 1x was studying though, was a mystery to Shedletsky. The novel didn’t do that deep into detail, or maybe it just wasn’t important to the plot.

Other than that, Shedletsky leaned back in his chair, arms crossed like he was a proud coach as 1x finished up the last of the soup.

“Not bad, huh? You cleaned that bowl.”

1x didn’t look at him, only set the spoon down with careful precision. His wings twitched once, faintly, before folding tight against his back.

“Yeah. It was fine,” he said flatly.

Shedletsky grinned, though it slipped at the edges. Fine? Just fine? He wanted to ask if the broth was too salty, or if the noodles were soggy, or if 1x even liked chicken in the first place—but the kid’s stiff posture told him not to push.

The next day, Shedletsky tried a different approach. He dragged 1x outside, nearly tripping over the too-long hem of his shorts as he waved a stick around.

“Behold! Shed—er, Telamon! Master swordsman!” He whacked a tree with a loud crack, bark flying. “Fear me, oh mighty oak!”

1x stood off to the side, arms folded, unimpressed. “That’s stupid.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. I’ll let you duel the bush if you want.”

“I don’t play.”

The answer was so blunt that Shedletsky nearly dropped the stick. He forced a laugh, scratching his neck. “Right… okay. Bush wins, I guess.”

Later, over dinner, Shedletsky leaned on the table, propping his chin up with his hand. “So… what’ve you been up to? Reading more?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“History.”

“Oh! Cool, cool…” He tapped his fingers against the wood, searching for something encouraging. Then, without thinking, he muttered:

“Well… at least that’s useful.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

1x froze. His spoon clattered against the bowl, hands trembling. His wings flared slightly, the tips brushing the chair, and his black eyes burned with something Shedletsky couldn’t place.

Shedletsky’s grin faltered, throat bobbing. “Uh… did I say something—”

1x shot up so fast the chair scraped against the marble, a shrill screech echoing through the dining hall.

“Shut up!” His voice cracked, sharp and unsteady, but he didn’t stop. “All you ever care about is useful! Useful this, useful that—what about me?! What about what I want?!”

His fists balled tight at his sides, wings flaring wide as the air around 1x hummed and simmered like an incoming storm. “Do you know what it’s like? Huh?! To sit in this house and never be anything but… but a mistake?!”

Shedletsky opened his mouth, but 1x barreled on, words tumbling out like they’d been festering for years.

“I hate studying. I hate reading. I hate all of it! I only do it because—because that’s what you wanted!” His breath hitched, tears brimming in those dark eyes though his glare never wavered. “And it’s never enough. It’s never good enough. Nothing ever is.”

Shedletsky opens his mouth again, before closing it shut. Something in him stutters. He looks more like a gaping fish than a functioning Robloxian. 

“All I’ve ever wanted was your approval!”

He stared. Hard.

The pain, the frustration, the resentment. It all festered like mold with the way 1x’s voice cracked and how tears brimmed those eyes. Shedletsky was at a loss, his heart thudding against his chest. He thought he was doing everything right, and everything did seem right. But he was very, very wrong to assume so. 

He forgets how terrible Telamon and 1x’s relationship was. Sure 1x may be young now, but all the signs were there. Neglect, resentment, burdens, isolation. He just refused to see it. He hadn’t been trying to be a father—he’d been trying to outwit death. Something so far out in the future that it blinded him. And now, looking at the boy’s tear-streaked face, that felt worse than useless. It felt cruel. 

He was feeding, clothing, and talking to 1x… but for the wrong reasons. The moment of clarity makes him realize he’s just been another Telamon, in a different mask. His affection for the kid seems so superficial now, he’s been selfish. He’s no better. Not one bit.

He mocked Telamon for this exact thing when he read the novel, and he’s been walking that same path.

1x1x1x1’s backstory in the novel was never put into grand detail, but there were snippets, flashes of the treatment he received under Telamon’s care. How his silence didn’t mean anything, that all his negative emotions bubbled and boiled underneath.

And it's not like 1x could yell at Telamon anyways. Telamon is a god, and 1x is just a kid. Telamon could obliterate 1x anytime and 1x knew that, and out of survival…

Shedletsky swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat. 

He’s been going about this in all the wrong ways.

He stood up from his seat, his heartbeat pounded wildly in his ears. He approached 1x with a sense of calm, though his expression was somber almost. 

Shedletsky saw the fear flicker in 1x’s eyes. A fear that shouldn’t have ever been there in the first place. 1x was probably afraid about what he’d do because he had yelled. And he remembers.

I’m Telamon.

By this point, 1x is shaking; as if bracing the wrath of a god. It sends a pang somewhere deep in Shedletsky at the sight. 

Taking a slow breath, he walks over, and bends slightly to where he’s lowering himself physically to 1x’s level. And Instead of scolding or showing fury or rage like 1x expects, he just ruffles the kid’s hair. The words leave him before he even realizes it. 

“You’ve been holding that in a long time, huh?”

Shedletsky felt it; an echo of his own loss. His old life, future threats, the weight of new responsibilities and his very own resentment for being thrown into this life. He can’t say he fully relates to how 1x is feeling, but he understands. He understands why 1x is the way he is.

I have to do better. For 1x, and not just myself.

Chapter Text

He was sleeping before he awoke to a loud clang. The floors vibrated, shaking like an earthquake. He jumped up, disoriented and confused as he grabbed the nearly empty bucket of chicken. He hadn’t finished eating it, unsure of when he’ll ever get the chance to eat something like this again.

The shaking, the clashing of metal continued on and on and it sent tremors throughout his little body. 1x1x1x1’s pale wings wrapped around himself protectively. Was it Telamon? What was going on?

He knew it was dangerous, but the fear of waiting, sitting like a duckling while not knowing what was happening ate at him. He had to know. 

Creeping out of his room, flinching at every strike and clash. He heard the slicing of stone and marble, making him swallow nervously as he tiptoed down the hallway that seemed to stretch out longer than he remembered. The anticipation was gnawing at him, trying to stay quiet as he lurked forward, and peaked through the corner.

It was Telamon, and Builderman. They were fighting. It was so loud, it made his ears ring and he couldn’t hear anything but the sounds of their weapons. What was going on? The tension weighed down on him, making him choke. It was hard to breathe under such suffocating presences of two gods battling in his home. 

Then, they halted. He doesn’t know what caused it, his ears still ringing like a buzzing fly.

“You’ve changed, Telamon. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

So it wasn’t just him. 1x1x1x1 thought he was going crazy with how Telamon’s been acting lately. Telamon actions recently have been contradicting everything he’s been made to believe the past ten years of his life. It infuriated him, in a way. Telamon doesn’t play games, but he can’t help but think it was all a trick. Telamon would never do anything he’s been doing recently. It threw 1x1x1x1 off.

He can tell there's an unsaid tension between the two gods. He was unable to catch what any of them said before they quit being at each other’s throats. 1x1x1x1 has never seen Telamon fight, and he hates to admit it to himself that it was pretty cool.

Remaining by the hall as builderman left, he stepped out into the rubble. Now that he could fully see it, the scene was…near catastrophic. Clean marks of a sword, cracked marble painted on the floor and walls, chunks of stone scattered throughout the floor, and Telamon, who stood beyond him.

He should probably leave now, before Telamon catches him. 1x1x1x1 doesn’t want to be in the brunt of Telamon’s wrath. 

But it was too late for that as the sword in Telamon’s hand dissolved into gold and then Telamon turned. Those black eyes landed on him, and he felt like a bug caught under glass.. He felt small, insignificant under the gaze of Telamon. His breath stuttered, his wings puffing slightly as a feather trickled off and fluttered to the floor. If he runs, Telamon might call him back. If he stays, he might get punished. Both choices felt like a trap.

But then, something unexpected happened. 

Telamon raised his hand, making 1x1x1x1 flinch before he felt a large, yet warm hand on his head, ruffling his unruly strands of grey hair. It made him freeze, the touch unfamiliar and it sent tingles throughout his body at the touch. He doesn’t know what to make of this.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Is what Telamon said, and something that 1x1x1x1 hadn’t anticipated to hear. Telamon doesn’t apologize. Telamon doesn’t comfort. 1x1x1x1 isn’t even upset that he saw a bit of the fight but the gentleness of Telamon’s voice and touch almost made him recoil. 

However, Telamon soon pulled his hand away before he crouched down onto one knee to 1x’s level. “Please go back to your room. It’ll be much more comfortable there than…here.”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. It was bizarre, 1x1x1x1 is full of confliction mixed with his own resentment for the god. Why was Telamon acting like this? After all this time? What was the point?

He doesn’t say anything to Telamon, remaining glued to his spot for a heartbeat longer, staring up at the god with unreadable black eyes before retreating down the hallway and away from the chaos. He needs to be alone, he doesn’t know if he can handle being in Telamon’s presence now.

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.

.

After that day. Telamon didn’t stop.

1x1x1x1 was constantly fed by Telamon who actually bought groceries and began cooking. Telamon actually talked to him, seeing him. 1x1x1x1 didn’t have to sneak out now, there was food here now. But that didn’t stop his suspicions, and a new sort of anger boiling inside him.

Telamon had never acted like this before. So why? Why now? Why try and connect with him when he’s so done with Telamon? 

Why does Telamon look uncomfortable whenever he says certain things when it was Telamon who ordered him to study, to read, to do whatever it took to him useful to the god. And what was up with the wardrobe change? 1x1x1x1 could hardly recognize Telamon with the ridiculous clothes that he began wearing. It was as if this was a whole other Robloxian than the Telamon he once knew.

1x1x1x1 wasn’t even sure what he preferred. Maybe the Telamon he was used to, the one who ignored him, at least he knew what to expect from that man. But this version? This imposter in ridiculous clothes and terrible humor? He didn’t know what to do with that — and it made him hate all the more.

He hates how Telamon attempts to play games with him, like with that stick and the bush when it was Telamon who forbade him, even punished him for even playing because it wasn’t useful. 

He hates how Telamon tries to talk to him, start conversations. He hates it so much. But he knows he can’t do anything. 1x1x1x1 is a kid, Telamon is a god. What could he possibly do? Telamon would never tolerate his anger if he ever showed it. Telamon would never tolerate disobedience if he tried to rebel. Telamon would crush it.

“Well… at least that’s useful.”

Useful.

Useful.

USEFUL.

He hates that word.

Those very words mocked him like a laughing crowd. He knew that Telamon could never change, he knew it and he was just proven correct. And for some reason, the words ringed inside him, the anger and resentment boiling over until he shot up from his seat, the chair screeching in agony as his spoon clanged against the bowl. His hands tremored like an incoming storm while his wings flared, exposing a deeper part of his anger. His eyes burned into Telamon like a scorching hellfire, he couldn’t stop it. 1x1x1x1 was overwhelmed with a sense of rage.

The stupid grin Telamon wore faltered, throat bobbing. “Uh… did I say something—”

“Shut up!” His voice cracked, sharp and unsteady, but he didn’t stop. “All you ever care about is useful! Useful this, useful that—what about me?! What about what I want?!” His throat began to feel scratchy and ache as his voice boomed and shot out like a punch to the gut.

His fists balled tight at his sides, feeling his nails dig into the skin. “Do you know what it’s like? Huh?! To sit in this house and never be anything but… but a mistake?!” Telamon always made it known to him that he was never meant to exist. That has lived with him even within his dreams. No sense of peace that he could ever get knowing that his existence was never supposed to be here to begin with.

1x1x1x1 barreled on, words tumbling out, years of build-up exploding like a bomb all into this one concentrated moment.

“I hate studying. I hate reading. I hate all of it! I only do it because—because that’s what you wanted!” His breath hitched, tears brimming in those dark eyes though his glare never wavered. “And it’s never enough. It’s never good enough. Nothing ever is.”

No matter what 1x1x1x1 did, it never satisfied Telamon. It was either a waste, or he needed to do more. Nothing was ever enough for the god. NOTHING.

“All I’ve ever wanted was your approval!”

Telamon stared. Hard.

1x1x1x1’s shoulders shook, his body feeling all jittery and alert. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, reminding him that he had yelled at Telamon. He had raised his voice. He had done everything he swore to himself not to do. Telamon was going to punish him. He wanted to take it back, shove the words down his throat, but it was too late.

The world around 1x1x1x1 felt light. He felt dizzy.

Telamon stood up from his seat. 1x1x1x1’s heartbeat pounded wildly in his ears. Telamon approached 1x1x1x1 with a sense of calm. Calm is scary. 1x1x1x1 is scared.

By this point, 1x1x1x1 is shaking. He expects Telamon’s wrath, he expects punishment, he expects something to happen.

Telamon walks over, and bends slightly to where he’s lowering himself physically to 1x1x1x1’s level. And Instead of scolding or showing fury or rage like 1x1x1x1 expects, he feels that warm hand on his head again, ruffling his hair. 

“You’ve been holding that in a long time, huh?”

1x1x1x1 can’t stop the way his bones seem to tremble. His breath catches in his throat as he let out a choked noise. The tears leave him before he even realizes it, streaming down his face like a waterfall as soft, quiet little sobs leave him. 

He hated that Telamon’s touch felt warm.

He hated how his body betrayed him, leaning into it even as his mind screamed to pull away.

He hated the embrace, hated being engulfed in Telamon’s arms, pressed to that chest that should’ve only been cold and unfeeling. But the warmth seeped into him anyway, crawling under his skin, fluttering through his body like sparks. It made him want to jolt away—yet it made him ache to stay. He hated that he wanted it. He hated that he felt like a kid clinging to something he never got before.

The hug itself was awkward, Telamon’s arms stiff, but he held on anyway. The warmth was strange. Not tender—more like a blanket after a nightmare. Unfamiliar, but safe.

1x1x1x1’s tears stained the ridiculous white shirt Telamon wore. He should’ve cared more, but he couldn’t. It all came crashing onto him as he sobbed his heart out. Telamon’s wings had extended and shielded him from the world. 

He would’ve never thought that he’d ever feel safe in the very arms of the one who always regarded him without much care. 

Even if this was fake, temporary, 1x1x1x1 didn’t want to let go. He’s always wanted a taste of warmth, even a drop of affection from Telamon. He’s yearned for it, always has. 1x1x1x1’s tears stained the ridiculous white shirt Telamon wore. He should’ve cared more, but he couldn’t. It all came crashing onto him as he sobbed his heart out. Telamon’s wings had extended and shielded him from the world. 

He would’ve never thought that he’d ever feel safe in the very arms of the one who always regarded him without much care. 

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.

Shedletsky felt the weight of the boy trembling against him, small fists gripping at his shirt like he was hanging onto a cliff. Every ragged sob made his chest ache in ways he wasn’t ready for. He knew this wasn’t about him—not really. This was 1x clinging to the idea of a father he never had.

And yet, here he was, holding the kid.

For a moment, he wanted to say something—it’s okay, I’ve got you, anything. But the words stuck in his throat. What right did he have to promise anything? He wasn’t the one 1x wanted. He was just… Shedletsky. Some guy who liked swords and fried chicken, shoved into the body of a god.

Still, he tightened his arms around the boy just a little more. If this was all he could give right now—warmth, steady arms, and silence—then he’d give it.

A sick feeling simmered in his stomach. He’s been no better. Never was. He was never better. He’s just some petty bastard who disliked Telamon, and never was actually better than the god. Who was he to claim he was better, when he himself could barely take care of himself in his old world? When he dismissed every person. He was naive, foolish.

He will do better. He has to. 

It's not just about preventing his death anymore. It's not just about being better than Telamon.

Shedletsky has to remember, this is his reality now. This is real. This is no longer just a novel. His actions have consequences in the world.

All I’ve ever wanted was your approval. The words echoed in his chest like a wound. He had no excuse. No clever mask to hide behind.

“I’ve got you, 1x.”

The sobs eventually faded into hiccups, then into silence. Shedletsky stayed where he was, letting the quiet settle. When 1x finally pulled away, his face blotchy and streaked, he didn’t meet Shedletsky’s eyes. He just wiped at his cheeks with the heel of his hand and muttered, “I’m… tired.”

Shedletsky only nodded. No lectures, no awkward joke. Just a nod. “Go on, then. Rest.”

And for once, 1x didn’t flee like he always did. He shuffled off down the hall, slow and dragging, but he didn’t slam his door behind him.

The next morning, when Shedletsky put a plate of food down at the table, 1x came and sat without being called. He ate in silence, stiff as ever, but he ate. When Shedletsky asked if he wanted more, the boy just nodded, wings twitching faintly as he held out his plate.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t trust. But it was something.

Shedletsky leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. For the first time since he woke up in this world, the silence in the dining hall didn’t feel suffocating. It almost felt… like progress, something good.

.

.

.

Things weren’t a perfect happy fairytale though. Although something did seem to change with his relationship with 1x, there was still an air of unease that kept Shedletsky on edge. But it was alright, things were…hopefully getting better.

The dining room was a common place for them to meet up now it seemed, mostly just Shedletsky watching 1x eat. He gushed at how adorable 1x looked, cheeks puffed with food. And 1x had slowly but surely been gaining some weight. Not looking so small nor boney anymore, though some more work could be done.

And Shedletsky knew better than to think one hug fixed everything. That wasn’t how it worked. Still, seeing 1x sit across from him at the table—choosing to stay, to eat—it felt like a win. A small one, but one he’d hold onto.

“So…uh, kiddo.” Shedletsky began, slowly. Gauging 1x’s reaction. “We’re running low on groceries, uh…” He pursed his lips before continuing. “…want to join me to the grocery store…?” After that incident with Crispy Crown, Shedletsky made it a point to stay at the house and just order stuff from online. But this seemed like a good experience for 1x, to get out of the house and actually see the city without looking over his shoulders. 

A smile broke out on his face. “You can even pick out what you want. It can be a snack, candy, whatever you want.” 

1x blinked at him, spoon halfway to his mouth. No command. No order. Just… an invitation. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick, or worse—pity. His wings twitched, folding tight.

Shedletsky held his smile, even if it wobbled at the edges.

“If you don’t want to, then that's fine. Just a quick run anyways.” He let out a laugh, playing it off after 1x had been silent for a while until he heard a soft mutter from 1x.

“I want to go…”

Shedletsky’s laugh trailed off, about to stand up from his chair when his ears caught the mutter.

He blinked. “…Wait—what?”

1x’s black eyes flicked away, cheeks puffing slightly as if he regretted speaking. “I said I want to go.”

For a moment, Shedletsky forgot how to breathe. It wasn’t much, but for 1x to say that… it felt like a crack of sunlight through a storm.

“Okay! Uh—you can finish up your food and ah take your time?” Shedletsky could barely contain his excitement. “No rush at all—just gonna change real quick!” Before scurrying to Telamon’s room. He felt giddy, happy, excited. This would be a good experience for 1x, and he’s glad that 1x had accepted. Now, he just has to change into another disguise.

“This time, it’ll be better than the Crispy Crown incident!” He grinned, opening up his closet.  

Chapter Text

“Hmm…no, that's not it. I look like I just got out of prison.” 

Modelling in front of the mirror with a sense of purpose, doing all sorts of poses that made him feel less and less confident the more he tried to get a feel for his appearance. If he can still see Telamon, then that means others will too. He’s starting to have doubts.

“No! I can’t give up, I said we’re going to the grocery store and 1x agreed!” Who knows when he’ll get the chance again? Shedletsky rummaged through the closet again, sifting through an assortment of clothes and accessories. His hand then brushed over an object, leather?

He pulled it out, examining it.

“A…pirate hat.” He muttered under his breath. Why did Telamon have a pirate hat in the back of his closet? Well—it was no matter, it would fit perfectly with his disguise! Though, he noticed a faint gold glimmer in the spot where he had picked the hat up from. He thought nothing of it.

Standing in front of the mirror, a smirk found its way to Shedletsky’s face as he checked himself out with a sense of pride at his disguise. “Hah! This time, I'm not stuck with just a hoodie and jeans.” 

A bright light pink t-shirt with some sort of childish cartoon dragon design with a purple short-sleeved jacket. The bright colors didn’t scream Telamon at all, so he knew he was doing something good! He plopped on an icy blue fur collar. Shedletsky had zero clue as to where he was getting these items from but he held no complaints. His disguise is great…

“…But not perfect.” His eyes squinted at the mirror, staring at his face. A whole lot of people knew his face. Once glance and he’d be recognized despite his disguise. His stare lasted for a while, scrutinizing himself through the reflective mirror as if it held all the answers. 

Until…

“Aha! I have just the thing!” He rushed to the desk, his hand knocking over cups of pens until he grabbed a black permanent marker and headed back to the mirror. Shedletsky is no artist, but he is definitely going to be making some art.

His disguise is perfect. Not just great, not just good—perfect. 

Shedletsky struck a heroic pose in front of the mirror, chest puffed out, wings spread wide, pirate hat tilted at a ridiculous angle. “Flawless.” He muttered. “They’ll never know it's me!” A mischievous giggle left him like a villain conjuring their evil plans. The swirly mustache he drew on made him look quite French and the thickly drawn stress lines at the sides of his nose accentuated his ‘age’ wonderfully. He looks older now, with a habit of wearing colorful clothes. Perfection.

Shedletsky could safely say that he’s now ready for his and 1x’s little grocery trip.

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.

.

1x1x1x1 sat in the lounge, half-hidden behind a newspaper he’d picked up while waiting after finishing his food. His wings shifted as his eyes scanned the bold headline:

UNSTABLE CODE SURGES SPREADING THROUGH CENTRAL DISTRICTS

Unstable code surges have become increasingly frequent across Robloxia, disrupting public areas and endangering civilians. Admins assure they are monitoring the situation closely.

Please keep an eye out if you notice glitching particles, patches, and or chunks. Do not get near, call law enforcement immediately.

His brows furrowed. He skimmed the article, words like hazardous data leaks, collapsing structures, patch crews overwhelmed flashing in his mind. So even the admins don’t have it under control… It left a cold stone in his stomach. If the city wasn’t even safe, then what chance did anyone have?

The sound of drawers slamming and something clattering to the floor echoed from Telamon’s room. 1x1x1x1 lowered the paper just in time to see the door burst open.

Telamon strutted out like a peacock, pirate hat perched proudly, neon layers clashing, and a badly drawn marker mustache scrawled across his face. His grin practically lit up the room. 1x1x1x1 can’t help but be disturbed. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Telamon being all smiley and bright. 

“…You drew on yourself,” 1x1x1x1 deadpanned.

“Correction—” Telamon spun on his heel, pointing at his face. “I improved myself. Rugged! Unrecognizable! Stylish!”

1x1x1x1 sighed, folding the newspaper with deliberate slowness, feeling a sense of something close to regret. He’s going to go in public with Telamon looking like a unicorn threw up on him. He doesn’t know what to make of it. “…I’m walking three steps behind you.” 

.

.

.

Shedletsky snorted, tossing his head like the pirate hat made him royalty. “Three steps behind? You’ll be lucky if people don’t think you’re my bodyguard.” He struck another ridiculous pose for emphasis before striding toward the door with purpose.

The closer they got to leaving, though, the giddy spark in his chest wrestled with a knot of nerves. This wasn’t just about picking up some groceries—this was 1x’s first time outside in a long while, without hiding, without sneaking. Shedletsky could almost feel the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders. He wasn’t going to screw this up.

He tightened the jacket around himself, wings folding close to each other like tightly bound rope. “Alright. Grocery adventure, round two. And this time…” He let out a shudder., “…no fried-chicken incidents.” The Crispy Crown incident laid bare in his mind for all to see.

For a second, he glanced at 1x—small, stiff, his wings tucked tight—but here. Actually here, standing beside him instead of retreating to his room.

That alone felt like a win.

Shedletsky squared his shoulders and stepped out onto the outside world. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s go! We’ve got a lot to do.”

The travel into the city was as mundane as anyone would think of it as. He kept 1x close as they took the bus, earning a few odd looks at his attire—though it was hard to tell if people were staring at the pirate hat or at the wings that stretched awkwardly in the cramped space. There were no sparks of recognition, though, and Shedletsky mentally fist-bumped the air in victory.

The City of Robloxia was massive, practically the capital itself. Other Robloxians often lived in smaller servers—less packed, less expensive. But here? Everything felt crowded and alive. Nothing had changed since he had come to this world. Everything was the same…except for him. There was no Shedletsky in this world.

“Hm…” He pressed his lips into a fine line at the thought.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell. Shedletsky glanced back to check on 1x, only to grin when he caught the boy’s wide-eyed stare at the skyscrapers and holographic billboards. That spark of childlike wonder hadn’t died yet.

It was the afternoon rush, meaning the streets were jam-packed. A recipe for losing someone, especially a kid.

So when 1x drifted a little too far, Shedletsky didn’t hesitate—he extended his wing like a giant feathery broom and swept the boy right back to his side. “Nope. Stay in the parent lane.” 

1x scowled, feathers puffing in protest, but said nothing.

Shedletsky smirked, ruffling the kid’s hair with the tip of his wing just to rub it in. “That’s what you get for trying to go three steps behind me. Rookie mistake.”

He did faintly realize he’d just labeled himself as a parent to 1x. Shedletsky didn’t mind—he liked the sound of it, actually—but he wasn’t sure how 1x felt. After all, his relationship with Telamon could hardly be described as anything parental. But since 1x gave no reaction, just stared ahead with his usual unreadable face, Shedletsky decided not to push it.

The grocery store loomed ahead like a metropolis of its own—huge, crowded, floors stacked with escalators and glowing lifts to every level. This was city living at its finest.

“Alright. Cart first,” he muttered with determination—only to stop dead when he saw the line that stretched back in a coil of tired faces and tapping feet. “Oh boy…” He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Figures.”

He shot a glance at 1x, who raised a brow at him as if silently saying, this is your idea of fun?

Shedletsky groaned, leaning dramatically on his pirate-hatted head against the nearest column. “I didn’t prepare myself for a boss fight this early.”

Waiting in line like a law abiding citizen is something Shedletsky never wants to experience again. He hates waiting, he hates lines. He was about to go ballistic when they finally got a cart and strolled off.

“Finally! That took like what—? Over thirty minutes? For a single cart!” He expressed his complaints while picking out some vegetables. “So, 1x, what do you want for dinner?” Shedletsky compared two cabbages together while he waited for a reply. “I can make uh, butter pasta? Or uhm…” He wracked his brain trying to think of suggestions. “Something—“ 

“Something—uh—spicy chicken? Chicken soup again? Chicken… stew?” His voice trailed, realizing every option he thought of was basically chicken. He glanced at 1x with narrowed eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m versatile.”

1x raised an unimpressed brow. “…You only know chicken.”

Shedletsky gasped, clutching the cabbages like they were twin babies. “That’s slander. I know—uh…” His gaze darted wildly around the produce aisle. “Carrots! I know carrots. Carrots go with chicken.” He realized yet again that he had involved chicken, but it was too late to retract anything.

1x sighed, and muttered, “I like them.”

“Well hey—fair enough. Adds zest to the chicken.” He winked, earning only a flat glare in return.

In the end, 1x begrudgingly chose chicken stew for dinner, making Shedletsky grin as he picked out some chicken thighs for the stew. “Hey! Want to grab some celery for me kiddo?” He felt sort of bad just having 1x standing there awkwardly while he’s grabbing all the ingredients, so giving the kid something to do shouldn’t be too terrible, yeah?

1x gave him a flat look, wings twitching once before he shuffled off toward the greens. Shedletsky kept comparing packages of chicken thighs, pretending not to watch, but his eyes flicked over anyway. The kid actually scanned the celery bunches carefully, turning one over like it was a piece of precious equipment instead of a vegetable.

When 1x came back and silently dropped it into the cart, Shedletsky beamed like he’d just handed him a sword in battle. “Look at that form! Perfect celery choice. You’ve got a good eye, kid.”

1x only muttered, “It was on top.”

“Exactly! Top-tier produce instincts. Natural talent.” Shedletsky gave a solemn nod, as though he were knighting him with the power of grocery shopping.

The faintest twitch tugged at the corner of 1x’s mouth, quickly smothered under his usual blank look. But Shedletsky caught it—and that alone was enough to keep his grin going as they pushed the cart forward.

That's how the shopping trip went for most of the time. Shedletsky picked out ingredients while giving 1x something to do that wasn’t just standing around. When they finally reached the snack aisle, he set 1x loose. 

“Alright! We’re here, snack aisle.” The shelves were stocked to the brim with all sorts of goodies. From chips to candy to granola bars to jerky. “I did say you could pick out what you want while we’re here so—go wild! Pick whatever you want!”

He lingered by the chip aisle, skimming over flavors—barbecue, sour cream, and cheese explosion. When the crinkle of a bag sliding into the cart made his ears twitch. Peeking down, his brows shot up.

“…Dehydrated limes?” He picked up the bag, turning it over like it might explain itself. “Kid, you’ve got an entire aisle of sugar and processed joy, and this is what you go for? That’s a crime.”

“You said pick whatever I want.” 1x crossed his arms, chin jutting up just a little, wings twitching with defiance.

Shedletsky raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right.” He dropped the bag back into the cart. “Just… an interesting choice, that’s all.” He chuckled, nudging the cart forward. “It’s what you want, after all. I’m just messing with ya.”

For the briefest second, 1x’s glare softened. Not into a smile, but something lighter, like the edge had dulled. Shedletsky grinned back, counting it as a win.

Next on the list was cereal. Shedletsky slowed the cart, eyeing the endless rainbow of sugar bombs and cartoon mascots. A sigh slipped from him. He wasn’t sure how long this little “domestic life” with 1x would last. He was Telamon now, technically—a god, with duties stacked higher than he cared to admit. The weight of it made him grumble under his breath. He’d much rather be at home with his sword, his chicken, and no responsibilities.

“Why do we need cereal?” 1x asked flatly, trailing alongside.

Shedletsky puffed out his chest. “Cereal is a vital meal of champions.” He delivered it with mock gravity. It was a lie, and he knew it. Turning for just a second, he triumphantly grabbed a neon-colored box featuring a googly-eyed cartoon mascot. When he glanced back at the cart, though, there it was: a plain, sad box of corn flakes. Not even frosted.

“You’re killing me here, kid.” He groaned, holding up his prize in comparison. But he kept the corn flakes in the cart anyway. If the kid wanted it, then so be it. He didn’t catch the faint smirk tugging at 1x’s lips as he pushed the cart onward.

Though as Shedletsky pushed the cart forward, he noticed the sound of smaller footsteps wasn’t behind him. He glanced back—1x was rooted in place, staring at the wall of cereal boxes. Or… staring through them.

Shedletsky frowned, wheeling the cart back around. “Hey kiddo! Looking for more cereal?” he tried, aiming for lightness as he followed 1x’s gaze, but there was nothing. Just endless boxes of cavities. “Huh.” He scratched his head, then looked at the boy again.

1x tore his eyes away, shaking his head quickly. Silent.

“You doing alright, kid?”

A short nod. Still no words.

Something tugged at Shedletsky, heavy and off-kilter, but he forced a grin, letting it go. “Okayy then… let’s go.”

He turned the cart, wheels squeaking against the waxed floors. Behind them, the box 1x had been staring at flickered, a faint ripple of rainbow outlines, colors a misaligned static crawling across its surface. It shivers for a second, like bad VHS tracking, before snapping back.

Whatever had happened in the cereal aisle had killed the mood. Shedletsky had no clue what the problem was and 1x seemed to be trapped in his own mind. A sort of confliction in that head of his, as if unsure. Shedletsky didn’t know what to make of it, and he couldn’t just force the boy to speak. 

In the frozen foods section, Shedletsky tried to lighten things up—pulling exaggerated faces at the fish sticks, juggling bags of peas, even pretending to duel a frozen pizza. It only earned him a couple odd looks from passing Robloxians. But not so much as a twitch from 1x.

He gave up with a sigh and turned toward the freezer.

Shedletsky blinked. And blinked again. 

The lasagna box on the other side of the glass wasn’t right. It wasn’t just frosted over—its edges jittered, skipping like bad video playback. Half of it seemed a frame ahead, the other half behind, like it existed in two places at once. The colors bled weirdly, flashes of blue and green and red at the seams, little slivers of raw code flickering like teeth. His brows furrowed, unease crawling down his spine. He rubbed his eyes hard, but the box was still wrong. Too wrong. 

His first instinct was to open the door, poke it, prove to himself it wasn’t what he thought. But something in his gut told him to leave it. He tugged gently at 1x’s shoulder, pulling him away.

“You sure you’re doing alright?” He led 1x to a quiet aisle, kneeling down to 1x’s level. He can’t just keep brushing this off, something was clearly bothering 1x. “I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is. Let's solve it together, okay?” A smile tugged at his mouth, soft, steady, but it felt like more than just a smile. Shedletsky’s hand rested lightly on 1x’s shoulder, warm and awkward. He meant it, even if the kid didn’t answer.

Then—a scream. 

Shedletsky jolted, his head snapping up toward the sound. His heart rate spiked almost instantly, thudding in his chest. Beside him, 1x jerked upright, wings twitching in alarm.

Slowly, Shedletsky’s hand reached for 1x, pulling the boy in close. His wings angled protectively, instinct acting before thought. He didn’t know what that scream meant—It could mean anything. But every nerve in his body told him it was bad. It wasn’t the shrill laughter of kids at play, or the startled yelp of someone slipping on tiles. No—this one was sharp, ragged, ripped straight from the gut. A sound soaked in fear.

“Stay close to me.” His voice came low, steadier than he felt. 

Leaving their half-filled cart behind, Shedletsky crept out of the aisle with 1x pressed to his side, every step careful as the store’s usual hum gave way to panicked voices swelling in the distance.

It was like a horror movie, only that this was real. Too real. The ground beneath him groaned, glass-fragile, like one wrong step would shatter it. Fluorescent lights flickered, hummed, then burst—raining shards and plunging whole aisles into shadow. Static prickled at his skin like a storm gathering under his feathers.

This was no longer just a cake-run at a grocery store anymore. Something big is happening. And Shedletsky didn’t like the thought of it as 1x trembled beside him. He felt the smaller wings wrap around his leg as they creeped out. People were running, screaming and yelling reverberated throughout the store in all directions. 

Then Shedletsky saw it.

It was the same thing as when he saw the lasagna, but on a larger, more dangerous scale. It glitched, it moved as if alive as static scattered and crumbled the building. A pebble of concrete struck his pirate hat, snapping him out of shock. Instinct overrode thought. His wings flared wide, scooping 1x against his chest, cocooning the boy in gold-tipped feathers before his mind even caught up.

Something was happening—and Shedletsky recognized it. 

An unstable code surge.

It was rare, but when it struck, it was nothing short of catastrophic. Shedletsky had only lived through one surge in his younger years, and the memory still carved itself into him like a scar. Entire streets had folded in on themselves, skyscrapers collapsing as if they were paper toys. The code didn’t just corrupt—it consumed, shredding and collapsing structures and crushing bodies, leaving behind only debris and casualties. Brutal. Unforgiving. Fatal to anyone slow or foolish enough to be caught in its grip.

They both had to leave. 

But they were too late. A mass of Robloxians clogged the shattered entryway, pressed together like sardines, the only escape choked off by a slab of collapsed ceiling. Panic had no order—only raw noise. Screams tangled with sobs, desperate prayers were shouted into the air, some voices begging, others already breaking into hollow acceptance.

Blood streaked across the fractured tiles and concrete, bright against the sterile glow of the failing lights. The wounded cried out for the admins, voices cracking, but no one came.

Shedletsky’s ears rang, every breath shallow, his chest tight. His gaze darted over the chaos, eyes wide, locked on the horror unfolding around him.

He raised his hand, patting 1x on the head, feeling the shivering body. “Hey…kiddo. Everything’s going to be okay.” Shedletsky’s hand was trembling. No, he has to pull himself together.

Ripping off the red plaid neck scarf from his neck, he carried both himself and 1x to the injured and kneeled down. “Are you okay?!” He yelled out, needing the Robloxian before him to hear him. 

“Y-Yes! Oh god it hurts so much though!” Wailed out the Robloxian, sobbing as his leg bled out with a chunk of debris impaled into it. Shedletsky could see the flesh. He pressed 1x’s face into his chest, not wanting the child to see the violence as he ripped out the chunk of concrete from the man’s leg, tensing at the near blood curdling scream as blood pooled out even faster. Shedletsky wrapped the scarf around the man's leg, tightly to keep the pressure. He slipped off his blue fur collar, wrapping it around the man's leg to keep it covered before springing up to more of the injured.

He was on autopilot. Even as his arms worked—tearing strips of fabric, pressing them to wounds—his wings stayed locked tight around 1x, shielding the boy from the chaos. One by one, others began copying him, wrapping what they could around bleeding gashes. Shedletsky barely noticed his own hands, slick and sticky with blood, barely any yellow skin visible as he moved on to the next injured Robloxian.

As he patched up civilians, more and more of his disguise unraveled until a woman had yelled out:

“TELAMON!!” 

The word cut through the chaos like a blade. A jolt shot down his spine, freezing him mid-motion. Suddenly, every eye was on him.

“Telamon is here!”

“Telamon please save us!”

“Help us!”

“I don’t want to die! Please!”

“Do something! I have a wife and kids!”

“Telamon!”

The cries layered over each other, a desperate chorus rising above the sirens and the groaning structure. Debris rained from the ceiling, dust choking the air, but all he could hear were voices pulling at him, demanding, begging. His breath quickened, sweat trickled down his temple. They weren’t seeing him—they were seeing a god. And he wasn’t one.

Pressed in by the crowd, reaching hands clawing at his forearms, Shedletsky stumbled back. His pulse pounded so hard he barely registered the absence at his side.

He hadn’t noticed. 1x was no longer under his wing.

Shedletsky shoved against the tide of bodies, wings flaring to push space between himself and the grasping hands. His ears rang with their pleas—“Telamon, please, save us!”—until the words blurred into noise.

And then, like a bucket of ice, it hit him. The weight against his side was gone.

His head whipped down—empty. No pale wings brushing his leg. No small figure tucked in tight.

Cold panic clenched his chest.

“1x?” His voice cracked, drowned beneath the chaos. He spun, searching, wings thrashing. Dust and screams blurred together. More Robloxians let out feared screeches as parts of the ceiling caved in, knocking over shelves and shopping carts filled with perishables and produce all over the dusted floor.

And then he saw him.

Across the little space they had by the entrance, 1x stood frozen, black eyes wide, too small, too alone—right beneath a ceiling that groaned and buckled. Concrete split, metal shrieked. The slab above fractured with a sound that made Shedletsky’s stomach drop.

The cries, the yelling, the shouts—it all drowned out of Shedletsky’s mind. The world shrank to a single point: 1x, standing frozen under the shadow of the collapsing ceiling, swallowing him whole.

Shedletsky didn’t think. He lunged, every nerve lit with terror, wings snapping wide as he thundered past and pushed the bodies of the crowding Robloxians aside, shoving and kicking. His eyes wide and glued onto only 1x, the world around him didn’t exist.

The last thing he heard before the crash was his own voice, raw and hoarse—

“1X!!!!”

Darkness.

This is the outfit Shedletsky wore. Or something, haha. Yes, I drew it myself. 

Chapter Text

Shedletsky had always been an outcast. 

There was always something with him that set him apart from normal kids his age. Sure he was a Robloxian, and growing like one, and he didn’t look particularly different. But it was just a feeling, an off feeling he had that he didn’t belong no matter how much he tried.

He never had parents. The orphanage director had told him that she had found him wailing in an alleyway. Not even wrapped in cloth to keep him warm. Any longer and he would’ve been frozen to death.

His parents, or whoever made him, never wanted him it seemed. 

But that was fine, he liked living in the orphanage. He liked taking care of the younger ones who didn’t have homes to return to like him and he looked up to the older ones who often took bigger jobs to maintain the orphanage. 

Shedletsky considers himself an outcast, despite how easy it was for him to talk to others and make friends. Nothing ever felt right. He always felt like he was on a different level than the other kids, and that wasn’t him being cocky. He was different, and Shedletsky didn’t know what exactly made him so different.

He bled the same way all Robloxians did, he cries and feels happiness and guilt. He feels fear and anger and shame and disgust. He commits mischievous acts and causes terror, as a child does.

So, what was wrong with him?

Being 13 years old now, nobody wanted to adopt him since he was ‘too old’. That was fine with him, he preferred the orphanage anyways. And even if he did get adopted, it’d be too late for him to feel any sort of meaningful bond.

The day went by as usual, the screams of laughter and giggling engulfed the orphanage walls like it belonged there. Children scampered to the cafeteria for their meals. Shedletsky helped set the tables with the other older children who remained unadopted, like him. 

Their little orphanage is peaceful. They’re not quite near the big servers, so they’re often left to their own devices as long as they all behave.

“Alright! Who wants some brownies?!” A sneaky grin grew on Shedletsky’s face, “I snuck it out from the kitchen!” He and a few others huddled up together, giggling as he broke up chunks of the brownie for them all to share. 

The first bite never reached his mouth.

The brownie in his hand… flickered. For a split second, it wasn’t food at all—it was jagged, broken lines of code, raw red and blue light pulsing inside the chocolate before snapping back again. His breath hitched, confusion crawling through him.

Then the walls trembled.

The laughter around him distorted, warping into static that made his ears ring. The cafeteria lights popped in a violent burst, showering sparks over the tables as children screamed. The floor shuddered beneath his feet like glass about to splinter.

Shedletsky staggered back, clutching the table as the room fractured in places, chunks of plaster tearing away and dissolving into a rain of particles. His heart hammered against his ribs. He knew something was wrong, deeply wrong—like the world itself was cracking open, like it was rejecting them.

“CODE SURGE!” someone shouted, voice breaking over the chaos.

The sound hit him like a curse.

Children scrambled in every direction, their cries muffled by the deafening hum of unstable code spreading like a storm. And through it all, Shedletsky felt it—a pull in his chest, a wrongness that dug straight into his bones, as if this catastrophe wasn’t just happening around him. It was happening to him.

Wood splintered and collapsed, the laughter twisting into shrieks as children shoved past each other for the doors, every Robloxian for themselves.

“Wait—!” Shedletsky shouted, voice cracking. “The babies! They’re still in the nursery!”

He grabbed for one of the older kids, fingers locking tight around their wrist, but they ripped away with a terrified sob and bolted for the exit. His chest tightened, breath shallow and sharp, panic stabbing through his ribs.

No one else was going to help.

He sprinted deeper into the orphanage as the ceiling above groaned, chunks of plaster raining down like hail. Each step jarred through his body, the floor splintering under his feet. His shoulder slammed into the nursery door, bursting it open—

The wails hit him all at once. Dozens of tiny cries, piercing, desperate. Cribs rattled against the walls as the floor shook, infants thrashing and screaming, red-faced and terrified.

There were too many. Too many little bodies. His hands hovered helplessly in the air, trembling. He could scoop up one, maybe two—but not all. Not nearly all.

His stomach lurched. I can’t carry them all. I can’t—

Shedletsky’s arms burned, but he didn’t stop. One by one, he scooped the babies out of their cribs, dropping them together into a single frame until the wood creaked and threatened to split. Their screams tangled into a single ear-splitting wail that clawed down his spine.

“Please hold—please just hold—” he rasped, hooking his arms under the heavy crib. His knees nearly buckled as he lifted, the weight of a dozen squirming infants making the frame groan in protest.

And then—light. A faint shimmer, gold bleeding across his skin, tracing the edges of the crib like it was being reinforced by something beyond him. He didn’t notice, too focused on running, but it was there.

The halls collapsed behind him in bursts of splintering wood and raining concrete. Dust choked his lungs as he staggered forward, clutching the crib like it was his own life as chunks of debris knocked against him, causing a dark red warmth to pool from his head and shoulders.

The sound of babies crying was all he could hear. The world had narrowed to that weight in his arms.

It was like he was underwater. His thoughts fizzed and snapped like a broken radio as the roof gave in, the orphanage shaking apart, his only exit swallowed in dust and rubble.

Tears blurred his sight, burning his eyes, but he didn’t drop the crib. He couldn’t. His wail broke free, hiccuping, ragged—but his legs kept moving. Even as he saw splotches of blood and crushed body parts, causing him to almost puke at the thought.

At the last stretch of hallway, he stopped by a corner, setting the crib down with shaking arms. The babies never stopped screaming, their cries piercing, desperate. Crawling on top of the crib, he spread his body over it, shielding them as debris rained down on his back.

Shedletsky never understood how he didn’t die that day. Many called it luck. Some whispered that the gods had been watching over him. But he didn’t believe in luck. And there were no gods left to watch over anyone— not anymore. They’d been terminated long ago, replaced by machines to keep Robloxia in order.

It had been something else. A force he couldn’t name, something vast, something buried deep inside him.

He still remembered it faintly—the gold particles, the glow, wrapping around him like a shield, holding the collapse at bay. Protecting him from any fatal damage.

Shedletsky was hailed as a hero in his server. The orphanage was gone, reduced to rubble, and admin bots handled the aftermath as the survivors were relocated to another server.

But he never believed himself a hero. He hadn’t done anything noble. He had only done what was necessary. Fear reveals a person’s true character, and all he saw that day were cowards.

Fearing for your life—yes, that was valid. But those same people he had begged, pleaded with, to help him save the babies? They all ran. In the end, they all ran.

Cowards.

.

.

.

Shedletsky woke in darkness. A stray tear clung to the corner of his eye. He didn’t know why that memory had clawed its way back to him now. It had been decades since he last thought of it, decades since he lived through that choking fear.

He remembered the nightmares that followed—how he would wake in the middle of the night screaming, crying, until no one knew how to comfort him anymore. And so he closed in on himself.

That day, the unstable code surge; it had lived with him for many, many years. That feeling of helplessness.

Until, at some point, it didn’t. The nightmares stopped the moment he picked up a sword.

How hypocritical of him, to forget. To stop remembering. Lives were lost that day—children, adults, people who had trusted the walls to protect them. And he let it all fade.

Now he floated in the dark, weightless. He felt nothing.

Shedletsky blinked slowly, unsure if time had passed or if it even existed here. Then, ahead—a faint white glimmer. He shifted, and suddenly there was ground beneath him, solid underfoot despite being black as the void itself. Compelled, he moved toward the light. Each step echoed unnaturally, like a puppet on strings stumbling forward.

The glimmer grew into a star, bright and sharp against the dark. Its glow pulsed like a heartbeat, alive, breathing. Shedletsky didn’t know what to make of it until the voice came.

“Wake up.”

It didn’t come from the star. It didn’t come from behind him. It was everywhere, curling around his ears, vibrating in his chest, whispering through the marrow of his bones.

“You are not allowed to die. Not yet, not now.”

His throat bobbed. He turned, but there was nothing. Only the star, throbbing brighter.

“Get up. He needs you.”

The star pulsed, until he fell into the void.

Shedletsky gasped, lungs seizing as he hacked up what felt like gallons of blood. His back screamed, wings twitching under the weight of debris as his whole body shook at even the faintest breeze. A ragged shudder tore out of him, his heart racing, vision swimming.

“…You’re okay…” His voice was a croak, barely more than breath. He shifted, dragging himself up enough that rubble slid from his shoulders. Through the blur, he saw 1x’s face streaked with tears.

A broken grin split his bloodied lips. “Don’t wo—worry, kiddo… dad’s got you.”

Hot tears burned his eyes, spilling over, dropping onto 1x’s cheeks. The boy sobbed harder, not from fear this time, but from the awful, fragile warmth of it.

“Y-You’re a god…” 1x sobbed, words breaking between hiccups. “Why—why did you… why did you do that?”

Shedletsky knew. 

I’m Telamon now.

He knows.

But any thought of using his godhood, of calling down some divine power, anything that didn’t get him to where 1x was immediately, was thrown out the window.

“Because…” He hacked another cough, blood sliding hot down his lips, over his chin, streaking his neck. “…You’re the most important person in my life.”

And he meant it. With everything in his being. Shedletsky didn’t know when 1x had climbed onto the highest pedestal in his heart — only that he had. Like a storm, sudden and unstoppable. And now here they were.

And Shedletsky? He’d do it again. Over and over, no hesitation, if it meant 1x lived another day.

“I… want to…” A grimace tore across his face as another cough wracked his chest. “…show you the joys… of the world. Without hatred. Without fear…”

His vision blurred. “I know I-I’ve made bad decisions. Decisions that can’t ever be undone…” His voice cracked. “…but I want to be better. For you. So you can li-live… a good… and honest life.”

1x said nothing but let out a loud, wailing sob as tears flowed freely. Shedletsky felt like he was on the verge of passing out again, but he hammered it into himself to stay awake. He couldn’t shut down now. He was a god now, wasn’t he?

Stay alive.

Do not give in.

His voice rasped in quiet reassurances, even as the world threatened to fade around him. The building groaned, torn apart by the other admins who had finally—too late—answered the call.

But Shedletsky never let go of 1x. His child. His son.

Even as rubble was lifted off his back, even as strange hands tried to pry him away, even as he was dragged into whatever came next—he clung on.

He would protect 1x. Always.

Chapter Text

“!!BREAKING NEWS!!

Good evening, Robloxia. This is Fury091 with Robloxia City Media, bringing you urgent updates.

At 2:13 PM today, yet another unstable code surge erupted in West Robloxia City. The chaos toppled the Bloxy Cola headquarters, collapsed the Robloxia City Grocery Store & Mall, and tore through major roadways and billboards. The current toll: 116 confirmed dead, 3,489 injured.

The admins did not arrive until 3:26 PM—over an hour after the surge began. By then, much of the district had already been reduced to rubble.

On the scene, Brighteyes attempted to reassure the public:

“The admins are doing their very best. Code surges have been reported across multiple servers. Every admin is working as fast as possible to contain the damage.”

But the outrage only grew when eyewitnesses confirmed the presence of one admin in particular.

Telamon.

“Yes, Telamon,” Brighteyes admitted when pressed. “He was at the scene.”

[Footage cuts in: grainy, shaky camera work shows Telamon being carried out of the wreckage by MrDoomBringer, while Dusekkar floats nearby, conjuring wards of light to shield survivors from falling debris.]

Citizens are furious. Many cried out for Telamon’s help inside the mall—but he ignored them, choosing instead to throw himself in front of falling rubble to shield… a single child.

Protestors outside Robloxia City Hall today carried signs reading: “One life over dozens?” and “Where was Telamon when we needed him?”

Telamon has not been seen in action for over a decade. First, he reappeared briefly at Crispy Crown. Now again, at the grocery store. But instead of the mighty god who once stood at the forefront of Robloxia, what we see is a man bloodied, broken, and—many argue—weak.

If rubble is enough to bring down Telamon, what does that say for the rest of the admins?

This is Fury091, signing off. And as always—stay vigilant, Robloxia. Because if the admins can’t protect us… who will?”

.

.

.

“That is all you need to know, near or far.”

Shedletsky grimaced as the advertisement played. He never really thought about what his actions caused in the grand scheme of things. But he doesn’t regret it. Just because he’s Telamon now doesn’t mean he doesn't get to prioritize what's important to him. Though many would disagree. 

“Thanks. I guess.” He mumbled out to the pumpkin headed mage. “Not exactly what I expected to see when I woke up.” 

He ended up passing out somewhere along the way when he was pulled into a hospital. Not a public one, but where admins would usually go if they ever got injured in battle against exploiters, hackers, all that good stuff. 

“You’re welcome, my friend, though I must remind—it seems you carry weight on your mind.” The flame within the blue pumpkin flickered, a dancing flame. Dusekkar had never been more than a shadow in the margins of the novel, a name spoken in passing. He wasn’t close to Telamon—never had been. So it perplexed Shedletsky why the mage was now going out of his way to speak with him.

“I guess so.” He sighed, falling back against the firm hospital pillows. His injuries ached, but he was healing fast. Perks of being a god, he supposed. “Where’s 1x?”

Shedetsky remembered the moment when he woke up. He may or may have not attempted to attack Dusekkar, but the mage assured him that he was fine. Completely understanding of his situation.

It felt nice, in a way. To be understood for once. Even though it was odd how Dusekkar didn’t bat an eye—or a flame at his “not-Telamon” behavior. Not like Shedletsky was even trying to act like Telamon, but everyone thus far had been absolutely shocked at his ‘change’ in behavior. 

“The child rests now with Builderman’s trust, yet in his wake, he’s stirred quite the fuss. The halls are weary, the caretakers worn, for his spirit blazes, both fragile and torn.”

Shedletsky just let out a long-drawn out groan. The way Dusekkar spoke made his head spin but he understood the gist of it. “Well…that's good to know, I guess.” Despite their rough start, Shedletsky knows Builderman is trustworthy. And Builderman knows about the truth of 1x1x1x1. So it was better him than someone else watching over 1x.

Dusekkar nodded, floating over to the window and closing the curtains, blocking the glimmer of moonlight. Shedletsky had been out cold for a couple of hours and it was now late at night. Fun times, fun times..

The advertisement ended, and the news show turned back on again and showed protestors.

Telamon had been off-duty for over a decade.

That's what stuck with him. 

He at least would’ve thought that Telamon still did his work, considering the way he ‘raised’ 1x. But that wasn’t the case. What the hell was Telamon doing all that time then if it wasn’t taking care of 1x? 

“A god who hides, yet will not care—what weight he leaves for you to bear.”

Shedletsky’s head snapped up, staring at Dusekkar who floated near the TV, shutting it off. 

“Wait—what…what do you mean by that?” His voice cracked, harsher than he meant, his pulse hammering so hard the heart monitor beside him shrilled with each uneven beat. “How…”

Dusekkar tilted his head, the carved grin of the pumpkin unmoving, yet the orange flame inside danced like it was amused—or pitying.

Shedletsky swallowed hard, throat dry. How could he know? He’s never told anyone. Not Builderman, not 1x, not a single soul. He’d buried it deep, hidden it beneath Telamon’s face, Telamon’s name. He was just a counterfeit shoved into a god’s corpse.

And yet Dusekkar looked at him like he’d known all along.

“A soul once bound, then cast astray—yet rightful form in you did stay. The path was warped, the thread was torn, but in this shell you were first born.”

He knew.

That was enough confirmation. The rhyming alone was throwing him off, but the meaning behind it? Shedletsky couldn’t grasp it. He was left gaping like a fish, sputtering in absolute disbelief. Dusekkar—he was The God of Magic, something everyone with half a brain knew. But magic couldn’t reach this deep… could it? Shedletsky knew he was an anomaly, but this—

The flame within the pumpkin flickered as if amused. Dusekkar studied him, reading every ounce of confusion etched across Shedletsky’s face, only deepening the man’s dread.

“In time, the truth will find you,” the mage intoned, voice calm, unshaken. “For now, I will bring to you what you have long yearned for—the child.”

“Wai—“ The word barely left his lips before Dusekkar vanished from the room, leaving him alone with the echo of silence. Shedletsky’s wings puffed instinctively, feathers trembling.

Too much. Too fast. Too many questions and never enough answers. His pulse thudded heavy, adrenaline buzzing under his skin like static. Part of him wanted to storm after Dusekkar, to demand the truths he kept dangling just out of reach. But a lump sat in his throat, thick and immovable, leaving him stuck—conflicted, cornered by his own thoughts.

The memory blurred in his head: taking the hit for 1x, the crushing weight, the fleeting image of his first unstable code surge. Something had stirred in him before he returned to reality—someone, maybe—but it slipped away the harder he tried to recall. He almost died. He knows he almost died.

But isn’t he a god now? The reporter’s words clawed back at him: If rubble is enough to bring down Telamon, what does that say for the rest of the admins?

His hands curled into fists. Was it weakness? Or worse—was it him?

.

.

.

“Dad!!”

His eyes flew open just in time for a grey bundle to collide with his chest.

Shedletsky wheezed, not sure if he’d missed a few pages or skipped a whole chapter. But there was 1x—clinging to him, trembling, alive. And calling him Dad. His breath caught. Dad. Not Telamon. Not god. Not creator. For the first time, the kid called him something else.

Despite the ache in his injuries, he raised his hands and wrapped them around 1x, disbelieving but unwilling to let go. The last time he’d felt joy this strong was when he first swung a sword—but that had been fleeting, a spark. This was different. This was warmth, heavy and real, searing itself into him. He almost thought he didn’t deserve it, but he clung to it anyway.

But this?

Shedletsky felt his eyes water, but he didn’t dare let any tears fall as he cradled 1x close.

“You’re okay.” He mumbled. Not a single scratch was on 1x. “How’ve you been kiddo?” He pulled back, a bright grin on his face even despite the water that pooled in his eyes. 

1x just pouted, glaring at Shedletsky although there was no intensity in it. Shedletsky could tell that 1x wasn’t happy with their circumstances, but all he could do was let out a loud belly laugh.

“Haha! I’m so happy you’re okay! Not even a single scratch on you!” 

His laugh was infectious it seemed, as 1x couldn’t help but crack a smile before frowning again. 

“But you’re still hurt…” 

Shedletsky’s laugh died down, and his grin softened to a smile. “Don’t worry about it kiddo! I’m stronger than I look!” He made a weird flexing motion with his biceps, snickering. “And don’t go getting lost in your head. None of it was your fault. I chose to do that, because you’re important to me.” 

For a moment, Shedletsky swore he saw 1x’s shoulders ease—like maybe, just maybe, he believed him.

And before he could say anything else, there was an awkward cough by the door. Shedletsky’s head snapped up, his stomach doing a flip as he realized they weren’t alone.

Oh boy.

“Builderman.” He gave a short nod to the other admin, swallowing back a nervous lump. The last time they’d crossed paths, they’d been trading blows—he’d only been spared because of that last-second choice.

Builderman gave a nod back. “Telamon.” His voice was even, unreadable, as he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He didn’t move for a long moment, just watching. Measuring. Finally, he stepped forward, sliding out a stool with a screech before settling beside the bed.

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

Shedletsky’s gut twisted, unease prickling under Builderman’s steady stare. But when nothing else came—no accusation, no sudden strike—he let his shoulders sag, the tension easing by an inch. 1x shifted in his lap, small and warm, grounding him.

“Holding up fine…thanks for asking.” He answered, slowly. His throat felt dry. “What's up?”

Builderman studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You made a choice in that grocery store. Not a mistake.” He leaned in a little, tone dropping lower. “But you do realize what it looks like, don’t you? A god ignoring the cries of hundreds to shield one child.”

Shedletsky’s breath hitched. The steady heart monitor beside him betrayed the spike in his pulse.

Builderman tapped a finger against his armrest. “That’s not the Telamon I remember.”

Shedletsky met Builderman’s gaze head-on, no grin to hide behind this time. His voice came out rough, but steady.

“You’re right. I’m not the Telamon you remember. But maybe that’s for the better.”

“I am the same Telamon you remember. And that is how it must remain.”

Builderman’s eyes narrowed, but Shedletsky didn’t flinch. He tightened his hold around 1x’s shoulders, feeling the boy lean against him.

“I won’t apologize for what I did. If it came down to it again, I’d make the same choice—every single time. Call it weakness, call it failure, I don’t care. That kid is my priority. He’s not a tool, not a burden, not some mistake to hide away. He’s my son.”

“I do not apologize. If it came again, I’d make the efficient choice—every time. Call it cruelty, call it strength, it makes no difference. That child is not my priority. He is a tool, a burden, a mistake to conceal. Nothing more.”

The room went quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor. Builderman studied him, unreadable as stone.

Finally, Shedletsky leaned back against the pillows, still holding 1x close. “If the world wants to hate me for that, let them. I’ll take it.”

“If the world hates me for it, so be it. Their hatred means nothing.”

The room went quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor. Builderman studied him, unreadable as stone.

But Shedletsky noticed it—a twitch in the jaw, the smallest shift in his grip on the stool. For just a heartbeat, something cracked through that mask: anger? Doubt? Maybe both. Then it was gone, smoothed over, replaced by the same stoic stillness that made him feel like he was talking to a statue.

Finally, Builderman exhaled through his nose, a sound too sharp to be neutral. “…You’ve gotten more reckless.” He held back a breathy chuckle, shaking his head.

Shedletsky bristled, feathers along his wings shifting like hackles. “Better reckless than heartless,” he shot back, though his grin had vanished. “At least I’m not sitting on my hands while my kid gets crushed under rubble.”

Builderman’s gaze hardened, his jaw ticking as though he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. He only leaned back on the stool, arms folded, unreadable as ever.

The silence stretched, broken only by the steady beep of the monitor.

Shedletsky looked towards 1x, who glanced back and forth between him and Builderman, clearly picking up on the tension. He patted the boy’s shoulder, steady and reassuring.

“Hey. Why don’t you go find Dusekkar for me? Me and Builderman need to talk about some things—it’s not really stuff you need to sit through.”

He hated how the words felt in his mouth. Not babying, not dismissive, but still pushing 1x into the role of someone older than his years. The kid was only ten, and yet here he was, forced to understand things no child should have to. The thought made his chest tighten.

1x just mumbled a quiet “okay” before slipping off his lap and padding out the door, the soft click leaving the room heavy and too quiet. Now, it was just him and Builderman. The weight of that silence pressed against his chest, making Shedletsky’s wings twitch.

Then—just for a heartbeat—his vision flashed white. The star.

He sucked in a sharp breath. The memory tugged at the edges of his mind, fractured but undeniable.

“Builderman,” he rasped, grabbing the other man’s attention. His voice came out rougher than he expected. “What do you know of… a white star, in a dark void?”

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.

.

The one who held both knowledge and wisdom held a wisp in his hand, his palm spread wide.

“Is this the one?” asked another, voice playful, masked behind a white comedy visage. “Took you long enough.” The one who ruled the void tilted his head, grin carved eternal. The little wisp wriggled in his sight, as though aware of its importance.

“And still you sat, while I did toil—letting me labor, sweat, and soil.” Shot back the one who held both knowledge and wisdom, not at all amused by the antics of the one who ruled the void. 

“Psh.” The void’s ruler waved a gloved hand as if batting away a thought. “What’s done is done. We’ve wasted enough time already. Let’s begin.”

“Full of age and knowledge, yet still so wild—so be it then, let’s work.”

Chapter Text

“Eat.” 1x held the white plastic spoon up to Shedletsky’s face, nudging it towards him. His expression felt a focused precision, as if this were a high-stakes mission.

“Look—kiddo, I can feed myself. My arms are wor…” Shedletsky faltered momentarily, seeing the disappointment starting to grow on 1x’s expression. “…Ah…yes! Uh, my arms are uh—dead. Bleh.” He stuck his tongue out, before opening his mouth and letting 1x feed him the rice. Shedletsky nearly choked on the spoon because 1x clearly didn’t believe in portion control, but he didn’t have the heart to comment on it. Though, he would’ve preferred to feed himself, he really didn’t want to see that kicked puppy expression that 1x was about to sport if he finished his sentence. Those eyes are dangerous.

It's been like this for the past few days in the hospital. Shedletsky was almost fully healed—it was only his wings that needed some more time and 1x took it upon himself to take care of him. Even though it wasn’t necessary, Shedletsky appreciated the sentiment.

After that unstable code surge at the grocery store, something had happened with 1x that just changed. That change? Well, calling him dad first off and now actively taking care of him and all that. It was as if that final wall with 1x had shattered after that incident. Not that Shedletsky was complaining, he’s absolutely elated that their relationship has improved this much. 

1x scraped the spoon against the bottom of the little plastic container, scooping out the last of the rice. He held it out expectantly.

“Kiddo, you’ve fed me enough to last a week,” Shedletsky groaned, leaning back against the pillows. “You trying to fatten me up?” He had quite the figure back before he woke as Telamon. Probably from his…dist choices.

1x’s brows pinched together. “You barely eat. You still look pale. And your wings…” His eyes flickered toward the bandages. “…you’re hurt.”

The grin slid off Shedletsky’s face for a moment. He hated that look—guilt, worry, all too heavy for a kid that age. He reached over and flicked 1x’s forehead gently, earning a tiny huff.

“Hey. You hear me breathing?” He exaggerated a noisy inhale, puffing his cheeks, then blew out a dramatic sigh. “Still alive. Strong as ever.” He flexed an arm, making the monitor wires tug awkwardly, and gave his best fake bodybuilder pose. “See? Pure muscle.”

1x cracked the faintest smile, trying to hold it back but failing.

“That’s better,” Shedletsky chuckled. Then his voice softened. “…Look. What happened back there—it wasn’t on you. You didn’t cause it. Don’t carry it around like you did.”

For a moment, 1x hesitated, staring down at the blanket. Then, softly: “I can’t help but blame myself though. I was reading a news article before we left…” He fidgeted with the fabric between his fingers. “…unstable code surges have been appearing everywhere, even though they’re supposed to be rare. When…we were getting cereal…” His grip tightened. “I saw the glitching, on the boxes. I wasn’t sure, so—I said nothing. Then everything went downhill and you—!”

His voice broke.

Shedletsky’s heart ached. He patted 1x’s back, slow and steady. “Hey…hey, don’t stress it.” His grin was softer now, not forced but genuine. “It’s hard to pin down a glitch, especially if it was short-lived. You did nothing wrong, kiddo. It’s okay.”

The boy swallowed hard, eyes shining with tears, but leaned into him anyway.

Shedletsky held him tighter, staring past the ceiling. He hated that 1x carried guilt like this, hated how much weight the kid tried to shoulder alone. But if he had anything to say about it, he’d make sure that weight never crushed him.

1x fidgeted with the empty spoon. “…I thought I was going to lose you.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Shedletsky’s chest squeezed. He reached out, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Yeah, well. Not that easy to get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now.”

For a moment, 1x just stared at him, quiet. Then, slowly, the boy leaned against his side, resting his head on his chest.

Shedletsky froze, his grin faltering into something rawer—warmer. He wrapped an arm carefully around the boy’s shoulders, eyes stinging despite himself. “…Guess this is payback for me calling you kiddo all the time. Now you’re making me feel small.”

The monitor beeped steadily in the background, the rhythm oddly soothing.

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.

.

“Heh, take a look at this.” The one who ruled the void showed off an object to the one who held both knowledge and wisdom. The object the void ruler held was that of a rectangular shape, filled to the brim with multiple, thinly layered delicate pages. “It’s been nearly a century since I had done something like this. Heheh…”

The one who held both knowledge and wisdom let out a sigh of exasperation. “And what is this you set before me? Your grand design, your mystery? To lay the records bare and true—the path revealed, the hidden view?”

The one who ruled the void scoffed at the one who held both knowledge and wisdom. “Yes! Aren’t you The God of Knowledge and Wisdom? If we were to just siphon in the VOID records, he’ll die.” He rolled his eyes, holding the precious item close to his chest. “Remember, he does not have the proper body to even comprehend nor the mind to handle this amount of knowledge! This was the easiest way and I’m the better writer here!”

The other god was not amused, though he allowed the one who ruled the void leeway to whatever he seemed fit. 

“At last, the place is known this day—eons across the void’s dark sway. Through branches deep where knowledge flows, the void shall speed the path it shows.”

“Hah!” The one who ruled the voice boomed out in laughter, a distorted sound echoing through the starry dark space where fireballs of gas twinkled. “Of course the void will be fast. Common knowledge, though i’m sure you know that already, heh.”

The one who held both knowledge and wisdom rolled his eyes, the flicker of an orange eternal flame, a sharpness in his tone. “…Then to the task, no time for fate—this lifetime’s short, we must not wait.”

“Yes, yes. Of course oh mighty one with knowledge and wisdom.”

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.

.

“Ouch.” 

A single tear beaded at the corner of his eye as Builderman peeled the gauze from his wings. Odd. Out of everyone, it was Builderman who had taken the task for himself. Maybe it was just practicality—but Shedletsky couldn’t ignore the weight of it. Builderman had done this before, hadn’t he? Not for him, but for Telamon.

It was strange, letting those hands touch the parts of him that still ached, stiff and raw. Stranger still was the silence between them—no accusations, no sharp words, just the careful work of someone who knew what he was doing.

Once the last strip came free, Shedletsky stretched his wings with a groan and a shuddering sigh. They still hurt, but the healing was coming along smoothly.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Builderman noticed the differences. The way his wings flexed, the way his body carried itself—did Builderman see Telamon in him?

“You never did figure out how to tend to these yourself. Always had me do it. Some things don’t change, huh?”

Shedletsky could hear the reminiscing, almost intimate tone in Builderman’s voice. He furrowed his brows, his mouth pressing together into a firm line. Builderman talks to him as if he were Telamon still. He’s not. He isn’t the Telamon Builderman once knew. 

Telamon and Builderman’s relationship was never deeply explored in the novel, Shedletsky remembered. Builderman made few appearances for some of the antagonists, but there was nothing too deeply written for his character. The novel solely focused on Telamon and 1x1x1x1. Anything outside of it wasn’t relevant unless it included the two. 

But there was a closeness here, heavier than he expected. Builderman’s tone, his touch, the way he spoke—it was meant for someone else. Someone Shedletsky could never be. The weight of it sat in his chest like a stone, nauseating. He wasn’t Telamon. Not then, not now, not ever.

Builderman’s hands were steady as he peeled away the last strip of gauze, his touch impersonal but practiced. Shedletsky hissed when a stiff feather snagged, only to freeze when Builderman’s thumb brushed along the quill, smoothing it back into place.

“Hold still,” Builderman muttered, plucking out a dried fragment of blood before it stained the rest of the plumage. The movement was fluid, too careful to be casual. He’d done this before—many times, Shedletsky realized.

It made his stomach turn. That gentleness wasn’t meant for him.

Builderman leaned back slightly, inspecting his work with a faint exhale. “There. Better, Judge.” The word slipped out naturally, heavy with memory.

Shedletsky stiffened. Judge? The nickname landed like a shard of glass, too sharp, too personal. He wasn’t the man Builderman was remembering, and yet here he was—sitting in Telamon’s place, wearing Telamon’s face, body, everything.

He forced a crooked smile, even as nausea churned low in his gut. “Yeah… better.”

Shedletsky didn’t know what he was feeling, only that it swirled inside him like a storm. It wasn’t right. None of this was right. He wasn’t Telamon. And yet Builderman spoke to him like he still was—the closeness, the subtle intimacy. It felt like he was leading him on, living a lie he could never step out of.

He’s never allowed himself to think too deeply about his situation. It's always been about pushing forward and moving forward. He was in such a panic at first when he woke up as Telamon, and he was thrown responsibility after responsibility that he never had nor expected to have. Shedletsky’s been focused on surviving, he’s been focused on the novel, he’s been focused on prioritizing 1x. He’s never given himself the time to process everything.

But the truth was still there.

His death. Stupidly, painfully, and for real.  He remembered it, even if he tried not to. And then he’d woken up here, in this body that wasn’t his. He’s never bothered playing it by the novel, he only acted like himself. He never processed anything. He’s always shoved it into the back of his mind, to be ‘forgotten’ so that he could focus on other things.

He’s not Telamon. He never will be. But that's what everyone calls him, that's what everyone remembers him as. Nobody knows Shedletsky. Nobody remembers Shedletsky. Shedletsky doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t exist.

It felt like the world was always mocking him whenever he saw Telamon’s face. He and Telamon’s features were scarily similar, yet so different. Its as if the world was giving him pieces of himself yet always teasing it at him like fishbait on a hook, with him being the fish. 

He had nearly died again too, protecting 1x. He’d do it over and over and over again if given the chance. He doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t. But it didn’t erase the truth: he almost lost himself again.

With Builderman, now that there wasn’t any hostility, it was like something snapped. Shedletsky couldn’t handle this anymore. It wasn’t fair to him, to Builderman, to anyone. It wasn’t fair, it's not fair.

The world was never fair to Shedletsky to begin with.

Before he realized it, he felt wetness stain his cheeks. And Builderman was now in front of him rather than behind him tending to his wings. That restrained yet concerned expression. It wasn’t for him. It’s for Telamon. 

Always Telamon.

What about Shedletsky?

Feeling a rough, calloused thumb against his cheek, wiping away the tears. Shedletsky let out a choked sob, turning his face away and rejecting Builderman’s touch as if the touch burned.

“Telamo—“

“No.” 

It came out of him, almost automatically that it even made Builderman look mildly shocked. Through the blurriness of his teary eyes, he can see the slightest bit of hurt in those deep dark eyes of his. It only made Shedletsky feel even more sick. 

“I’m not—him!” His voice came out like a croak, as if it took battles to even tear the words out of him. “I’m not the Telamon you know!” The words tumbled out jagged, tearing his throat raw. The silence that followed was worse than any accusation. Builderman just stared, and Shedletsky felt himself unraveling under the weight of it.

He continued on, like a dam breaking and cracking as water rushed through to flood the following land. 

“It's not what you think…I’m not Telamon with a new personality change or…whatever. I’m not him but at the same time I have his face like I just woke up like this after I died—“ 

He babbled on endlessly, words tripping over each other, spilling faster than his thoughts could keep up. Builderman’s expression cracked—disbelief etched sharp across his face, eyes wide, jaw tight.

Shedletsky kept going, unable to stop, even as his chest burned and his vision blurred.

Builderman didn’t interrupt. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even breathe, it felt like.

He was at a loss for words.

“Fuck—if you just attacked me again I wouldn’t even blame you.” The sentence came out ragged and small. He hated how weak he felt as tears smeared his cheeks while he wiped his face desperately, not understanding why the tears won’t stop. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to feel weak after holding it in after all this time but here he was spilling his heart out to Builderman who didn’t even ask to have all this baggage dumped onto him. Shedletsky felt like absolute shit, awful.

It was only when he felt his shoulders being grasped by firm hands, with Builderman’s expression hardened once more. Shedletsky felt like this was it, that everything he had done thus far was pointless. 

Then Builderman spoke, slow and quiet. “Who are you?” 

It hit him like a punch. The room narrowed to the rasp of his own breathing. He tasted iron and something else. “Sh-Shedletsky…” The name trembled out, fragile as glass. Saying it felt like reaching for a hand in a dark room and finding one already there. He mentally cursed at himself for stuttering. He hadn’t realized how long it's been since he’s heard his own name, despite it being himself saying it. 

Builderman didn’t move. He only held on, that same firm grip, as if testing whether the name was real. The silence stretched, heavy and honest.

“Shedletsky.” Builderman’s voice dragged over the name, slow and foreign on his tongue. The unfamiliar name from a familiar face’s mouth. “I think…I need a minute.” His grip loosened, sliding down Shedletsky’s shoulders before separating from Shedletsky’s skin, the warmth leaving with them. Builderman studied the face before him as if it belonged to a stranger. He stared at Shedletsky in a different light, his unreadable gaze.

He stood up and turned, steps heavy toward the door. His hand lingered on the handle, knuckles pale, before he spoke one last time without looking back.

“None of it was your fault.” 

The door clicked shut, leaving the silence heavier than before.

This left Shedletsky alone, brewing in his own regret, the hospital walls pressing in like they’d overheard too much.

He stared into space, like a void. He didn’t hear the door creak open, nor the heavier steps that followed.

“Huh. You look down.”

Shedletsky’s head snapped up, his breath catching.

“Heh. Miss me? Telamon.”

A grin stretched across the other god’s face, the gleam in his midnight-black eyes hidden just enough by the blood-red horned bucket helm. His tailored suit shimmered faintly, like a walking constellation, the crimson tie swaying as he dropped into the very stool Builderman had just vacated. The room seemed smaller with him in it, his sheer size pressing down on the air.

For a moment, the other god only rubbed his chin, thoughtful, before letting out a chuckle. He tilted his head as he leaned forward, closing the distance until Shedletsky instinctively recoiled back.

“It’s not like you,” he murmured, the grin never leaving, “to get weakened like this, Telamon.”

Shedletsky shoved down the remnants of his breakdown, forcing his focus back on the figure before him.

“…Doombringer.”

Chapter Text

Although never truly understood, the relationship between Telamon and Doombringer was that of a petty rivalry. Their domains clashed, their ideals even more so.

Doombringer was a thorn in Telamon’s side, a buzzing fly that refused to leave his ear. The winged god bristled at his presence, feathers puffed in irritation, while Doombringer only seemed to enjoy stoking that fire. To 1x1x1x1, watching his creator’s temper flare was victory enough.

Telamon deserved every ounce of pain and misery.

Yet even Doombringer found 1x1x1x1 unwelcome, the self-proclaimed spawn dismissed as little more than a nuisance. A disappointment, though 1x knew better than to dwell on such things.

To others, the rivalry between the two gods looked absurd. Petty squabbles that felt more like two children bickering over spilled milk than beings of divine stature. And so it remained—until the day Doombringer returned.

He came back from one of his missions into the far reaches of the servers, a task so confidential not even 1x knew its name. But 1x saw the difference immediately, a difference that only he could see. It wasn’t a wound, nor fatigue, nor silence.

Hatred.

And so much of it.

Not even Telamon’s judgment could decipher it.

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.

The conversation with Doombringer was both awkward and tense, leaving a bitter taste in Shedletsky’s mouth. The relationship with Telamon and Doombringer was never well explored, and it was complicated. It only made Shedletsky realize further how the novel only focused on Telamon and 1x, and not on outside forces. And now that he embodies Telamon, he’s now faced with potential challenges that came with being Telamon. How lovely, he snorted out to himself.

Doombringer was friendly, though, too friendly. And friendly in a way to where it didn’t feel right. He didn’t think he was overthinking it… but still, something in him bristled. As though his very bones whispered judgment, warning him that this warmth was laced with rot.

“The rumors have said so much about you, ya know? It made me grow curious…so, I showed up at the scene of the surge.”

The wide toothy grin Doombringer had given him made a shiver go down his spine, seeing the glint in those pearly white canines. 

Rumors.

Right.

He doesn't favor rumors, they were nothing but strangers’ judgment dressed as truth. And he couldn’t tell if Doombringer’s smile hid judgment too, or something far worse. 

Shedletsky is well aware he perplexes many with his ‘new’ behavior as Telamon. The Crispy Crown incident being one, then the unstable code surge, the disguises. He’s not oblivious.

“…And I couldn’t help but want to check in on the patient that I had brought in myself.”

He remembered seeing the grainy video feed on the news where Doombringer had been the one to haul him up like a sack of potatoes and carry him out of the scene. The thought of it made Shedletsky suspicious, what was Doombringer’s game? What was he trying to play here? It couldn’t just have been out of the kindness of his own heart. 

Shedletsky knew he was only going in circles at this point. He couldn’t prove anything, and Doombringer, although odd, didn’t really do anything. So he was forced to drop it until then.

He couldn’t stop that nagging feeling in him though. 

…

He misses 1x. 

Shedletsky’s never had children before, nor did he know anyone with children. But he’s heard stories, he’s witnessed it from strangers, he watched videos. He never quite understood the intensity of a parent’s love, but now? Now, he could understand. It didn’t matter to him that 1x wasn’t his, it was just the fact that 1x is his baby. His child.

Growing attached to characters in a novel.

That made Shedletsky furrow his brows, feeling a pit in his gut. To refer to these living, breathing, talking Robloxians to just “characters in a novel” felt wrong. Dehumanizing. Everything felt real, it felt like reality. To refer to this world as fake is to grow detached. And that’d mean…1x would…

Shedletsky let out a loud groan. He’s been non-stop thinking in his head. The beeping of the heart monitor and the whirring of the vents—the white noise was driving him insane. There was nothing to take his mind off things; though, maybe except for the TV. But other than that, he’s always alone. Festering in his own thoughts and head. 

He feels like he’s been breaking down at everything, as if the slightest trigger would send him into a spiral. That won’t do. 

“Dad!”

His eyes felt blurry, watering. 

Shedletsky wiped his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. His body felt heavy. And mentally? He was exhausted.

“I can’t just sit and rot, I need to learn how to utilize Telamon’s abilities.”

He stared down at his hands, calloused, but not the same callouses he used to have back when he was still himself.

Clenching his hands and balling them into fists, he has to remember.

This is for 1x. This is for him. 

He can’t just break down at every setback. He’s been avoiding it all this time, but Telamon is undeniably powerful. And he currently inhabits the body of Telamon. He can use this.

“I can do this.” Shedletsky let out a slow exhale. “I got this.”

Shedletsky let out a shaky laugh, half to convince himself, half to break the silence.

“You can do this,” he muttered again. “I’ve survived worse.”

“—And yet survival is not the same as living.”

The voice cut through the white noise of vents and monitor beeps, smooth and measured. A flicker of orange light danced across the floor, and when Shedletsky lifted his head, Dusekkar hovered near the foot of the bed, eternal flame glowing faintly inside the carved pumpkin grin.

“You strive to rise, you claim your might—yet power unused is wasted sight.”

Shedletsky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Do you ever talk like a normal person?”

The flame within the pumpkin flared, amused. “Normalcy is dull. But wisdom? Never.”

Shedletsky isn’t sure how to feel about his frequent rise in visitors that appear out of the blue. 

“Right…”

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“Home sweet home!”

Shedletsky could kiss the walls and floors right this second if he could! He was goddamned sick of white walls and white tiles and the smell of disinfectant. But he had far more pressing matters at hand than to worship the ground. He patted 1x on the head who was walking in beside him, who let out a grumble of reluctance as they entered the space once more. 

Everything was the same as they had left it before they went to the grocery store which then turned into chaos incarnate. But the plus was that Shedletsky was now fully recovered and ready to move onward. He’s well aware that his journey in this world is not going to be easy, considering that Telamon has made plenty of people unhappy.

Shedletsky drops onto the couch with a theatrical sigh.

“Finally, my throne.”

1x deadpans. “It’s a couch.”

“Correction—the couch. My kingdom.”

“You’re sitting on crumbs.”

Dusekkar had also passed on a message from Builderman to him. After that day where he spilled his guts out to the other god, he hasn’t even seen a hair from Builderman. Which was…understandable, but it still stung. 

The message in a nutshell was that Shedletsky would still be put on off-duty until 1x was old enough to be responsible to stay home alone since the moment Shedletsky even steps out into the world as Telamon, he’ll be busy busy. 

And that doesn’t give him much time…

…

“Dusekkar, since you already know uh…everything. Uh, would it be alright if you helped me out with all this “godly” business and the abilities I have now?” Shedletsky won’t be a liar and say he isn’t still suspicious of Dusekkar for somehow knowing about him not really being Telamon, but kinda is, but it works enough to his advantage. Dusekar is really knowledgeable, so any sort of help from him will for sure be a boost.

The pumpkin headed mage tilted his head to the side. “You yearn to wield what lies concealed—the buried truth, yet unrevealed?”

Shedletsky paused, before shaking his head rapidly. “I—yeah, I guess so. Whatever that means. Any help would be great really.”

Dusekkar tapped the end of his staff on the white tile floor with a nod. “Then so be it—when wounds are mended, the path to power shall be tended.”

…

Grabbing a box of cereal from the cabinet (they’re limited on what's in stock in the kitchen due to the grocery incident), Shedletsky eyes the cereal box warily before opening it.

“…You’re not gonna glitch on me again, are you?”

1x stared, unimpressed from the doorway of the kitchen. “It’s cereal.”

Shedletsky: “That’s what it wants you to think.”

1x just stares some more, unfazed.

When 1x sits down to eat, Shedletsky automatically slides the carton of milk closer, then the spoon, then the napkin.

1x squints: “You’re hovering.”

“I’m being supportive.”

“You’re being weird.”

“…Same thing.”

Watching 1x eat his cereal, Shedletsky begins to think about the amount of time he has left with 1x. It sounded more ominous than it actually was, but little domestic moments like this won’t be a daily thing in a few years time. It sort of made him sad to think about it. 

This was especially because Shedletsky has future stuff planned with Dusekkar who agreed to help him grow stronger. He stares at the patterns in the marble wall, tracing it with his eyes before looking back at 1x. 

Right.

This isn’t just for himself.

Shedletsky can’t afford to remain ignorant and naive that outside forces won’t find out about the reason on how 1x exists. Telamon never bedded anyone, as far as he knew (it’d be real awkward if he opened the door one day to see one of his flings) and that was as far as anyone knew. So to the world, 1x just appeared. Or maybe speculates that Telamon had a hidden mistress, and that being the reason why he’s been off duty for so long.

He needs to utilize being Telamon. To protect 1x until he doesn’t need protecting. Until 1x is okay to handle himself.

A flash. A flicker. 

Shedletsky wasn’t sure if whatever he was seeing was just his imagination or not. He blinked, his blood running cold as he sees the dark skin, blackened tar and the translucent green torso, the ribcage and spine being all visible inside. He sees the piercing red glow from the eyes, and the green domino crown that sat atop the head.

His throat went dry. His chest seized. Judgment. Not cast by him, but shown to him. A possible verdict waiting to be delivered.

He blinked, and it was gone. Just 1x eating cereal, oblivious to what had just transpired.

I can’t let that future come true.

Shedletsky doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle 1x becoming true hatred. Just thinking about it was painful, like he was being stabbed over and over by different blades, shredding his skin and insides until there was nothing but mush.

He has to become stronger.

Shedletsky clenched his fists. He couldn’t just swing a sword and pray it was enough. Not when gods, exploiters, and fates like this existed.

I can do this.

Shedletsky’s gaze hardened. Resolve burning through the fear.

I can’t afford to waste time.

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(Day 1)

“Come forth, display what lies below—show unto me the strength you know.”

The words rolled like an incantation, each syllable flickering with the flame inside Dusekkar’s carved pumpkin face.

A vast field stretched around them, emerald grass bending in the breeze. No cityscape, no Robloxia towers—just endless green under an open sky, far from the main population. The only sound was the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of magic that clung to the air like static.

Shedletsky flexed his fingers, his pulse quickening. He’d thought of this for days, turning the thought over in his mind until it scraped raw. Now, with Dusekkar hovering before him, staff planted lightly against the earth, there was no more time to hesitate.

He drew in a sharp breath.

Golden dust shimmered faintly at his fingertips, swirling like ash caught in sunlight. Slowly, deliberately, he reached into the glow, closing his hand around something unseen. The particles flared, brighter, bolder—until the weight settled into his palm.

His sword.

Its edge gleamed as though carved from the light itself, the particles still clinging to it like fireflies refusing to fade.

He raised the blade, its edge catching the sunlight, steadying his stance.

“…Alright. Let’s do this.”

Dusekkar’s flame flickered within the pumpkin’s hollow smile. The mage tapped his staff against the earth, the sound ringing sharp.

“Good. The form returns. Now—strike.”

Shedletsky exhaled, squared his shoulders, and lunged forward, the grass crunching beneath his boots as the first clash of training began.

(Day 6)

“Dusekkar, why are we up here?”

They had hiked all the way up a mountain, and now stood at the edge of a cliff. The drop stretched forever, the wind tugging at his feathers. Shedletsky’s stomach twisted.

“Flight practice,” Dusekkar said simply, his voice calm as ever. “Trust the winds—and leap.”

“Uh-huh…” Shedletsky nodded along before the words actually sank in. His eyes bulged. “WAIT—WHAT?! LEAP?! DUSEKKAR, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR PUMPKIN-HEADED MIND?!”

He staggered back, wings puffed, but before he could bolt, the bottom of Dusekkar’s staff tapped against the stone.

Shedletsky felt the pull—an unseen force clutching his body.

“Wha—WAIT NO NO NO—!”

And with one clean motion, Shedletsky was yanked forward and hurled off the cliff.

“WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK!!” His scream echoed through the canyon below, growing fainter as he flailed, wings beating chaotically.

Above, Dusekkar’s flame flickered in quiet amusement.

Shedletsky clung to 1x desperately as Dusekkar floated towards him ominously. The flicker of the flame inside that dumb pumpkin head made him quake.

“1x!! Save your father from this—this beast!”

Deadpanning, 1x just allowed himself to be shaken like a ragdoll, not at all surprised by his father’s immature behavior anymore.

“Dad. He’s literally trying to teach you how to fly.”

“Teach?! He threw me off a cliff!”

“…And you’re still alive. Congratulations, it worked.”

Feeling the pull of Dusekkar’s magic again, Shedletsky clung to 1x like a lifeline before his grip slackened and he was launched away. 

“1XXX!!!!”

(Day ???)

“Blind you stand, yet seeds remain—unaware you walk within your domain?” Dusekkar tilted his head to the side, staring down at Shedletsky who wheezed on the grassy terrain. 

“Whuh—domain?” Shedletsky blinked up at Dusekkar, slinging an arm over his forehead. “Like uh, those godly titles?”

“Correct.”

“Then, no.” He doesn’t know what his domain is. The admins aren’t often referred to by their domains, usually called by their names. Domains were a thing way back in the past, and now that this is the modern age, domains are just not something that people talk about often.

The staff struck the ground once, and the meadow rippled like water. Before Shedletsky, a broken object shimmered into being—a simple clay cup, fractured down the middle, leaking light like sand through cracks.

“An empty vessel,” Dusekkar intoned, his flame flickering faintly. “Broken, yet not beyond return.”

Shedletsky tilted his head. “…You want me to fix a mug?”

The pumpkin-headed mage’s silence was answer enough.

Shedletsky sighed, crouching down to pick it up. The shards wobbled, light spilling between them, and without meaning to he muttered: “C’mon, stay together.”

Gold dust stirred at his fingertips. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic—just a slow glimmer threading the cracks, pulling them taut until the light sealed within and the mug was whole again.

Shedletsky blinked. “…Huh.”

Dusekkar’s flame pulsed. “Power lies not in force or blade—it flows in the choices made.”

Shedletsky set the cup down slowly, unease tugging in his chest. “Yeah, well, let’s hope I don’t get stuck fixing dinnerware in battle.”

From the sidelines, 1x slurped noisily at his juice box, deadpanning: “You probably will.”

“Kiddo, don’t jinx me.”

(Day ???)

The air thickened as Dusekkar swept his staff. The meadow bent away, darkening into a shadowed vision—an illusion, but one that smelled of iron and ash. A snarling beast took shape from the void, its eyes like hot coals, its movements jagged and hungry.

Shedletsky stumbled back, drawing his sword out of instinct. “Uh, hey—you could’ve warned me before summoning a nightmare.”

“The nightmare is yours to end,” Dusekkar replied evenly, flame unshaken. “Blade alone shall not suffice. Reach deeper.”

The beast lunged. Instinct screamed at Shedletsky to swing, but something in him flared instead. A heat in his chest, a weight pressing on his skull. The gold dust stirred violently at his fingertips, coiling into his grip.

He raised his hand without thinking and barked: “Enough!”

The world cracked. The beast froze mid-stride, suspended in a golden lattice of light. Its snarling face warped with agony, as though existence itself was weighing it. Shedletsky felt the judgment—not spoken, not decided, but delivered.

Then the backlash hit. His vision spun white, his lungs seized, and he choked violently, copper flooding his mouth.

He dropped to his knees, coughing blood onto the grass, the golden lattice shattering with him. The beast dissolved like smoke, gone as if it had never been.

Through the blur, he heard 1x’s panicked voice: “Dad!”

And Dusekkar’s flame flickered low. “Power wielded blind extracts its toll—reckless fire consumes the soul.”

Shedletsky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing. “…Could’ve started me off with a mug again.”

.

.

.

The weeks bled into months. Days of aching wings and bruised shoulders, of Dusekkar’s riddles echoing in Shedletsky’s ears, of 1x sitting nearby with a book or juice box while his “dad” was thrown headfirst into one impossible lesson after another.

Shedletsky learned to grip the wind instead of letting it toss him, to summon his sword without hesitation, to draw on something deeper when steel alone wasn’t enough. The gold dust no longer scattered like a fluke of light—it lingered, it listened. And still, he felt something stir beneath it all. A weight that pressed harder when his emotions ran sharp. A sense that his power wasn’t just about wielding, but about weighing.

Meanwhile, 1x was changing too. At first, he only watched, silent and sharp-eyed. But over time, he started pointing things out—small details Shedletsky missed. A flaw in his footing. A moment where he hesitated. Even Dusekkar seemed to acknowledge the boy’s observations with a flicker of flame, though he never said so outright.

By the time the seasons turned, 1x had grown steadier, less brittle. He laughed more, but it was quieter, fleeting. He’d started taking to puzzles, riddles, and sometimes sparring practice with Shedletsky when the mood struck. He wasn’t a warrior, not yet—but he was no longer just the shadow at Shedletsky’s side either.

Shedletsky no longer stumbled when his feet hit the ground after a flight. His blade didn’t shake when he held it. He wasn’t just surviving Telamon’s body anymore—he was starting to live in it.

But Robloxia wouldn’t wait for either of them to be ready. Sooner or later, the world outside would come knocking. 

And now, with 1x old enough to be responsible on his own, and much to Shedletsky’s own reluctance, he was summoned to return to duty. And despite his conflicted feelings about Dusekkar, the mage had been a major help. So he let it go for now. Let the pumpkin-headed mage have his secrets.

His wings fluttered as he descended down onto the smooth grey concrete as Robloxians shuffled in and out of the tall building that was Roblox HQ. He stared up at it as the sun bounced off the glass, a bright gleam that rained upon the server.

The time has come.

And so finally, he makes his first steps into the building.

Chapter Text

It had been a total of six years. Time had passed much faster than Shedletsky initially thought. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he walks past multiple bodies of Robloxians in the bustling Roblox HQ. It was a large office. He heard typing everywhere he looked, he heard the sound of the printer in every direction, and there were multiple cubicles.

It was sort of intimidating, he admitted to himself.

Finally, he reaches the highest floor. The floor of the admins. He steps inside, and it was empty for the most part. Admins are busy people, so its expected that they’re not around often.

His steps echoed through the corridor, unsure of where he was going as he followed his mental map. This would be the first time he and Builderman would talk again after…half a decade. It made him nervous. The man didn’t seem to be out for his blood, but something was different now, and it was awkward.

He just has to play it cool.

Yeah…

Stopping in front of a door with a nametag “Builderman” by the side of it, he knocks.

There was a slight shuffle inside, before he heard Builderman’s voice, “come in.”

Shedletsky felt his heart rate spike up, nervousness prickled at him but he forced a grin. He opened the door, and there Builderman was. The other admin didn’t regard him too much, focused on the stacks of paperwork before him. The man was practically drowning in paper.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the atmosphere changed. It felt awkward, strange. Shedletsky coughed into his hand. “So, uh. I’m ready for the job?” He sounded like a dying fish. Good job. 

“You’re late.”

It’s blunt, neutral, but it reminds Shedletsky that whatever personal stuff passed between them, the office is still business. Only after finishing his signature did he finally glance at Shedletsky, expression unreadable. His tone wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t welcoming either — just the kind of detached professionalism that made the silence heavier.

It made a lump clog up his throat, but Shedletsky kept his forced, lopsided grin.

“Hey! I’m not that late, am I?”

Builderman finally set his pen down, shuffling papers into a neat stack before leaning forward. “Ten minutes.”

A low whistle slipped from Shedletsky. “That’s… practically on time for me.” 

Builderman didn’t return the smile. He only arched a brow.

“This is not whatever job you had before, Shedletsky.”

The use of his name made Shedletsky flinch. For a split second, the grin slipped—but he caught it, plastering it back into place.

“Time is of the essence. Do not be late again.”

Giving a salute, Shedletsky nodded. “Yes sir!”

After that, and Shedletsky’s poor attempts at keeping things light, the anxiety bubbled inside him from how awkward everything was. He’s heard the saying, “It’s not awkward if you don’t make it awkward” and he’s trying pretty damn hard here, but whatever he did, Builderman didn’t budge. He supposed that was understandable, considering the last time they spoke was him spilling the truth on Builderman.

Builderman led him through the floor and to a dingy dusty office. There was no nameplate beside the door, it was just…empty. Shedletsky was pretty sure he saw Telamon’s name somewhere throughout the doors, but Builderman brought him here.

“This is your office. You can do what you want with it as long as it doesn’t destroy the building and you get your work done.”

Opening the door, the inside was…less than stellar. It was dingy, old, dusty. Was that mold?

“Uh…” Shedletsky raised an eyebrow, looking at Builderman who remained unfazed.

“You’ll start here. Desk duty. Reports, incident logs, clearance approvals. Nothing beyond this office until I say so.” Builderman then rubbed his chin, ruffling the slight stubble that had grown on. “Go get settled in. I’ll get your paperwork.”

Then, Builderman had left.

Shedletsky felt sweat on his forehead, staring at the office before him. Maybe he should’ve expected this. Things weren’t 100% between him and Builderman, and he doubted things ever would. Builderman knows he’s not Telamon, and is treating him like so. It stung a bit, but it was fine. 

The only problem he had was that he was being shoved into a corner to do paperwork, not even admin work. Builderman knows he knows how to fight. And surely Dusekkar had told Builderman about his training, right? So what was up? Was it just a matter of trust?

Whatever it was, Shedletsky decided to not push it. Maybe this was a test. He wasn’t sure, but he’ll endure it for now.

He can’t endure it.

Shedletsky absolutely hates paperwork. He’s been rotting away in this office for hours.

Skimming, signing, stamping—repeat. He’d already memorized every crack in the ceiling, counted every mold spore on the wall, and debated starting a tally of his own sanity slipping away. And still, three more stacks loomed like miniature mountains of despair.

The memory of Builderman’s office made him shudder. That bright, neat, organized space—while he was shoved in this mildew graveyard like an afterthought.

The only window in here didn’t even face the sun. Just the brick wall of the next building. “Perfect,” he muttered. “A scenic view of nothing.”

He trained for years, wrestled with Telamon’s cursed abilities, practiced swordplay until his hands ached—for this?

Burying his face in his hands, Shedletsky let out a loud, drawn-out groan that echoed off the dusty walls.

This wasn’t going to be sustainable.

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.

.

“1x!!! I’m dying here!” Shedletsky groaned dramatically to his now teenage son as they walked through the streets of a quieter server. Robloxians still recognized him, but at least they didn’t mob him like in Robloxia City.

1x didn’t even look up, thumbs tapping across his phone. A nod was all the acknowledgment Shedletsky got.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Shedletsky muttered to himself. “Once, you clung to my side. Now you’re a broody teenager who treats me like background noise.”

“Mm,” 1x hummed flatly, still scrolling.

Shedletsky threw his hands in the air. “Tragic. Betrayed by my own flesh and blood!”

He looked around for a moment, grumbling to himself before spotting a pizza joint across the street. His whole face lit up.

“Let’s go get some pizza, kiddo! I think I’ve heard about this place before!”

His mood did a complete 180 as he practically skipped toward Builder Brother’s Pizza, feathers ruffling with enthusiasm.

Behind him, 1x trailed slowly, shoving his phone into his pocket with a sigh. “Figures.”

Opening the door, the bell rings. The scent of butter and crust and oily cheese filled the air. The place was quite busy, surprisingly. Shedletsky and 1x headed up to the front counter, where a young man with golden blond hair wearing the Builder Brother’s Pizza uniform and visor. The nametag on his shirt said “Elliot” as he closed up the cash register.

“Hello! Welcome to Builder Brother’s Pizza!” A bright smile formed on the young man’s face, customer service at its finest. “What would you like to order for today?”

“Hm…” Shedletsky looked up at the menu, squinting before zooming in on one of the pizzas. “I’ll have a meatlover’s pizza.” He nodded to himself, and Elliot gave a hum of acknowledgement. 1x was still choosing between the options before shrugging.

“Cheese pizza is fine.” And Shedletsky gawked at him for the plain option.

“Okay! One meatlover’s and one cheese pizza! Anything else?”

Shedletsky shook his head.

“Your total will be $23.75! Here or to go?” It was a bit expensive, but lucky for Shedleysky, he doesn’t have to worry about that. Taking out his wallet, he fished out a couple bills and handed it to the pizza worker.

“Here, please.” Shedletsky glanced at 1x who shrugged, and Elliot nodded.

Once he received his change, Shedletsky dropped the change into the tip jar before being handed a receipt. 

“Your order number is right here.” Elliot pressed his index finger against the bundle of numbers, 98. 

“Thanks.” He grinned at Elliot, who smiled and went off to handle the next customers in line.

“Alright! Let's go find a seat!”

Builder Brother’s Pizza. Shedletsky remembers the establishment well. He had visited once or twice back when he was Shedletsky, himself. Though Elliot was a new character—he doesn’t know why Elliot stood out to him. He felt like he was forgetting something, something big.

“Hmm…” 

“Dad, you got that thinking look on your face.” 1x didn’t even have to look at Shedletsky to know how hard the other man was thinking. 

Shedletsky shook his head, sighing. “It’s nothing important. I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

Then, a loud boom, causing the whole pizzeria to quake and shake. 1x sprung up immediately, just as Shedletsky’s expression hardened.

Why couldn’t there just be one normal day?

Fire crackled and danced across the floor. It wasn't a normal fire, since it would’ve died out by now. Robloxians ran and screamed, his hand found its way to 1x’s shoulder. “1x, follow the crowd and get to safety.”

1x glared at Shedletsky, “what?! And leave you here?” 

He gave a reassuring grin to 1x, “I’m stronger than I was back then. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He gave a pat to 1x’s shoulder, who seemed reluctant. His hands curled into fists, before rushing out and following the evacuation crowd as sprinklers sprayed over the fire, leaving Shedletsky drenched like a wet dog.

Shedletsky could feel it, like a pull.

This wasn’t going to be anything normal, by any means.

The building quaked again, dust spilling from the rafters. Shedletsky braced himself against the counter as more customers scrambled for the exits.

Elliot had vaulted over the counter without hesitation the moment the loud boom was heard, pulling off his visor and tossing it aside. “Everyone! Out the front doors—don’t shove, don’t stop, just move!”

His voice cut clean through the panic. Robloxians obeyed, streaming past him as he guided them toward safety. He wasn’t just some pizza worker—he was practiced, steady, the kind of presence Shedletsky didn’t expect to find in a kid running a register.

Then Elliot’s gaze snapped to Shedletsky, eyes narrowed, sharp despite the chaos. “You’re not running?”

Shedletsky gave a lopsided grin, drenched hair plastered to his face from the sprinklers. “Not my style.”

For a heartbeat, Elliot’s eyes flickered—something almost knowing, but too quick to pin down. He jerked his chin toward the door anyway. “Then don’t die in my shop.”

“Does this happen often?” Shedletsky asked, stretching open his hand as golden particles compressed together into a familiar weight into his hand. 

Elliot grimaced. “Only recently. I hoped that they would’ve grown bored by now.”

He cocked up an eyebrow. “They?” He repeated.

“Exploiters.”

“Ah.” Shedletsky gave a nod. He’d never come across an exploiter before, but he’s heard plenty of stories.

Shedletsky tilted his sword, the gold sheen pulsing faintly against the flicker of the unnatural flames. “Exploiters, huh. Guess I should’ve figured.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened. Gone was the easy grin from earlier—his voice came out clipped, almost bitter. “They crawl in, tear up whatever they touch, and vanish before the ashes cool. That’s all they do.”

For a moment, Shedletsky almost forgot he was talking to a pizza worker.

“Right uh. I’ll help out where I can.” Builderman might get upset at him, but why should he just sit around like a duck when he has the ability to do something? 1x was safe, civilians had evacuated. He can focus his attention on taking care of the problem.

Elliot gave him a disbelieving look. “Seriously? It's dangerous!”

“Wha—“ Shedletsky sputtered, “I should be saying that! And don’t you know who I am?”

Elliot gave him an odd look, and Shedletsky couldn’t quite pinpoint it. 

“Gah! Whatever, we don’t have time for this. Evacuate with the other civilians, I got this!” He didn’t wait for Elliot’s reply. His wings snapped wide, droplets flinging from his soaked feathers, and with a heavy beat he shot through the crack in the collapsing wall, vanishing into the smoke and fire.

Behind him, Elliot muttered under his breath, unheard.

In the air now, with the cool wind blowing against his soaked clothes, a shiver was sent down his spine at the sudden chill. 

There's no way the exploiters would’ve left. 

And he was right. Hearing the strong pull of wind, he looks behind him only to see a wall hurling straight towards him, as if being controlled by some outside force. Shedletsky tightens his grip on his sword, before raising it up high as the sun rays gleamed against the metal, causing a sharp light as he strikes down the moving object in half, the wall being split in two flew past him.

The two halves of the wall slammed into the street below, cracking concrete and scattering rubble like dice.

Shedletsky steadied himself mid-air, wings flaring wide against the drag of the wind. His sword still shimmered faintly, golden motes clinging to the blade like embers.

Then—silence.

No footsteps. No voices. Only the echo of the collapse fading into the distance. And yet, something pressed against him. Heavy. Inevitable.

It wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from him.

A pulse in his chest, steady and merciless, as though the world itself demanded he weigh what stood before him.

Shedletsky’s jaw clenched. His grip on the sword tightened, and the gold dust stirred restlessly at his knuckles, flickering like scales tipping out of balance. He steadied himself mid-air, wings flaring wide. 

Until the air itself fractured.

Until sparks of red code fizzed across the sky like fireworks. Symbols streamed into a column, glitching and snapping apart before collapsing into a figure standing on the ruined rooftop.

There stood the exploiter, lines of jagged code flickered across his jacket like neon graffiti, a half-finished project that somehow looked intentional. His boots crunched against the broken edge of the roof as he raised his hands like a performer basking in applause.

“Man,” he laughed, a cocky grin flashing as he combed back some of his messy brown hair, the burger hat that had sat atop his head tilted back. “Did you see that? Clean slice, perfect delivery—hell of an entrance, right?”

Shedletsky’s grip on his sword tightened. The motes prickled hotter at his knuckles, that weight pressing on him again—the sense that something was off, tilted, wrong.

“Yeah,” Shedletsky muttered, wings beating as he rose a little higher. “Cute.”

The exploiter looked up at Shedletsky for a moment, and that cocky grin fell. “Oh shit.” It was like realization dawned on him. “Telamon?!”

Shedletsky tensed. Right, he forgot.

I’m Telamon now.

“Sick outfit! Haha!” The grin returned, though tight and twitchy.

Shedletsky glanced down at himself — stained shirt, sweatpants clinging from the sprinklers. Sick outfit indeed.

“Gee, thanks,” he muttered, deadpan. “But I gotta deal with you now.”

That grin faltered for just a second before snapping back, wider than before. “O-oh yeah? Big words from the guy dressed like my uncle at a barbecue.”

Shedletsky’s grip on his sword tightened. “…Kid, you’re really not helping your case.”

“Wha—who’re you calling kid?! I’m in my twenties!”

Shedletsky blinked at him, unimpressed. “…Congrats. You’re still a kid.”

The exploiter’s jaw dropped. “Says the guy in sweatpants!”

Shedletsky really didn’t have time to keep bickering with an exploiter here. So he descended down, and his wings flapped and pushed him forward, following the path of the wind as he purposefully crashed himself into the exploiter, knocking the guy back.

The exploiter scrambled back, fingers flying across a floating panel that flickered into existence before him. A black and red GUI window unfolded in the air.

The air warped. Loose bricks on the nearby rooftop lifted, jittering violently as though reality itself couldn’t decide where to place them. One by one, they snapped into a jagged orbit around the exploiter, forming a crude barrier.

“Oh no you don’t!” Shedletsky swung his sword, golden light cracking across the barrier the exploiter made. The barrier buckled, then shattered into broken pixels that rained down in a messy static hiss.

The exploiter hissed through his teeth, floating higher, the panel following his movements like a tethered ghost. “Tch—fine. Let’s see how the ‘great Telamon’ handles a real exploit.”

The exploiter’s panel pulsed, strings of code bleeding into the air. Broken geometry spawned around him—floating chunks of brick, jagged metal poles, even half-rendered furniture models yanked from who-knew-where. With a snap of his fingers, they shot forward like shrapnel.

Shedletsky slashed, wings flaring as golden dust licked along his blade. Each swing tore through the mess of glitch-born debris, sending pixels scattering into sparks. Still, the volley didn’t stop—more and more spawned, raining down like a storm.

“You script kiddies never quit, huh?” Shedletsky grunted, batting aside a half-rendered chair.

“I built this from scratch!” 007n7 snapped back, voice cracking with both pride and strain. “I’m not some script kiddie—I’m the real deal!”

A jagged column of mismatched textures—wood, marble, concrete—sprung up beneath Shedletsky, aiming to impale. He leapt, wings straining, barely clearing the top. His sword came down in a golden arc, cleaving the structure in two.

Golden motes clung to the broken halves, pinning them to the ground as if the world itself judged them too unstable to rise again. 007n7’s eyes widened at the sight.

“You—what the hell was that?!”

Shedletsky leveled his blade at him, face tightening. “A warning.”

The exploiter snarled, panel flickering as the strain on his hacks showed. He floated back, teeth gritted, his cocky front slipping.

“Tch—damn it, this isn’t working.” His eyes darted around, desperation replacing bravado. Then, with a frustrated shout, he cupped his hands to his mouth:

“Noli! Where the hell you at?! I’m facing a literal god!!”

A beat.

The exploiter broke out in a sweat.

“NOLI?!?! YOU FUCKER! Get over here!”

Shedletsky had no clue who this “Noli” was, but he was not going to let this exploiter get backup.

He lunged forward, aiming to grab the collar of the exploiter, until a hand stopped him.

The grip was cold, firm, and impossibly steady.

Shedletsky froze, his hand outstretched in front of him, golden motes scattering in the air around him. Slowly, he turned his head.

A man stood there, hand clamped around his wrist with effortless precision. His presence was calm, almost mundane, but it carried weight—like the silence before a collapse. His eyes, dark as void, obscured by the mask, held no panic, no surprise. Just certainty.

“Nice to finally meet you, Telamon.”

The words were spoken casually, almost warmly, but to Shedletsky they hit like ice water.

He blinked, jaw tightening. “…Do I know you?”

The man’s lips curved faintly, as if amused by the question. Behind him, the other exploiter who he didn’t know the name of yet let out a shaky, relieved laugh.

“Took you long enough, Noli!”

Their words drowned out in Shedletsky’s mind as he stared at this “Noli” character. He feels like he should know that name.

Until it hit him.

.

.

.

“Builderman,” he rasped, grabbing the other man’s attention. His voice came out rougher than he expected. “What do you know of… a white star, in a dark void?”

Builderman froze at the question, his stare sharpened, like he was weighing whether to answer at all.

“…A star, in the void?” His voice was low, cautious. “That is no ordinary vision, Telamon.”

Shedletsky blinked, shifting uneasily. “So you know something.”

Builderman leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “The Void has been silent for centuries. Too silent. If you’ve seen its light, then it means the God of the Void is watching again.”

“The God of the Void?” The words tumbled out of Shedletsky before he could stop them.

Builderman’s expression stayed unreadable, but his tone carried weight. “You should not chase its meaning. If the Void sets its gaze on you… it rarely ends well. Consider yourself fortunate to have woken up at all.”

Before Shedletsky could press further, Builderman straightened. “Do not speak of this outside this room. Some things are better left unspoken.”

“Wait!”

Shedletsky leaned forward, unable to stop himself. “What does the Void God look like?”

The question slipped out before he even realized it, sharp and desperate.

Builderman’s eyes narrowed. He studied Telamon—him—for a long moment, as though weighing every possible answer. Finally, his voice came out low, almost reluctant.

“…You’ll know when you see it.”

.

.

.

The memory bled into the present.

You’ll know when you see it.

Noli’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, a knowing curve to his lips.

The man, Noli, wore a dark purple hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head. He wore a white smiling comedy mask that seemed to copy whatever expression he held underneath. The black skinny jeans revealed his lanky figure, and the little white stars that decorated the little head accessory he wore. 

The white star.

Shedletsky shook his head. How could he even be sure this was who he thought it was? Because of some deja vu? Some similarities?

Even then, something was not right.

“Lets get out of here, Seven. We’re not ready for this.”

Shedletsky snapped back to the present.

“Wait—!” Shedletsky lunged, hand outstretched, desperate to grab Noli’s wrist—

But the air itself split like torn fabric, colors bleeding in reverse, and the two were gone.

His hand closed on nothing. No trace, no ripple. As if they’d never existed at all.

Shedletsky stopped. When did his breathing become so heavy? He looked down at his hand, furrowing his brows as blaring sirens were heard in the background.

Chapter Text

God Returns to the Field: Pizza Joint Reduced to Rubble!

By Fury091, Robloxia City Media

At 1:47 PM today, Builder Brother’s Pizza became the latest victim of an exploiter attack. The incident began with explosions and fire that forced a full evacuation of the restaurant. But amid the chaos came an unexpected sight: after six years of silence, Telamon has returned.

Witnesses captured footage of the fight between him and the unknown exploiter. While poor angles and shaky recording make it difficult to identify the culprit, the battle left no doubt—Telamon held his own, even as the attacker and his accomplice ultimately managed to escape.

The restaurant sustained major damage: a collapsed roof, broken walls, and fires that forced its indefinite closure. Still, many now wonder—does this sudden reappearance mean Telamon has truly returned to duty? Is Robloxia’s winged god back to defend its people despite the controversy that surrounded him six years ago?

Click here for more coverage.

Telamon Back on Duty—What Does This Mean for Robloxia’s Safety?

Telamon’s sudden reappearance yesterday has left Robloxia divided. After six years of absence following the infamous “code surge incident,” many believed he had abandoned his post. Others, however, continued to hope.

At Builder Brother’s Pizza, Telamon confronted an exploiter during a chaotic attack, ensuring civilians evacuated safely. For some, his presence has restored faith. “He’s back—finally,” one evacuee told reporters. “If it wasn’t for him, we’d all still be trapped in there.”

Still, doubts linger. Was this a one-time event, or the beginning of his full return? Until Telamon appears consistently, Robloxians remain cautious. His future role—and our safety—remain to be seen.

Can a God Who Disappeared for Years Really Be Trusted Again?

After sixteen years off duty, with only 2 appearances six years ago, Telamon has reemerged. But is Robloxia truly safer with him back in action?

Critics point to the unstable code surge that left countless injured, noting that Telamon risked the lives of many to save only one. Even in his latest appearance, footage shows him slicing apart a collapsing wall—sending it crashing into a nearby road and triggering panic. Though no one was injured, the damage was clear.

Skeptics argue that his presence causes more chaos than it prevents. “If a god can bleed, he can fail,” one forum post reads. “And when he fails, Robloxians pay the price.”

With praise from some and concern from others, the question remains: is Telamon a protector returning to form—or a liability we can no longer afford to rely on?

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.

.

“You were told to stay put!”

“Excuse me?! I was on my day off with 1x!”

“Exactly! Your day off! You should’ve waited until another admin arrived!”

“And did a single admin arrive when the exploiters struck? No! It was all me out there. Did you want me to just stand around, twiddling my thumbs while people got hurt? Isn’t the whole point of being an admin to protect the people?!”

“Yes, it is. And that is exactly why I’m furious. You weren’t assigned to that scene—I never gave you clearance to run out and swing your sword like a maniac! Do you even realize the damage you caused?! Roads are shut down because of you, and while you went after the flashy one, the pizzeria was left to fend for itself against the other exploiter.”

“…”

“THIS,” Builderman snapped, “is why you’re on desk duty. You’re reckless out there. Too many already doubt your return—I won’t let you give them more reason.”

Shedletsky stood still, jaw tight, his expression flat as Builderman’s words landed. It wasn’t like a boss disciplining a worker—it was sharper, closer, like a fuse that only he could light. Builderman rarely lost his cool, but with him, it always seemed to break loose.

Reckless.

The word burned louder than all the rest. And for once, Shedletsky had nothing to throw back.

The silence stretched, thick as concrete. Builderman’s glare hadn’t softened, and Shedletsky stood rooted, jaw clenched, fists loose at his sides.

Then the door creaked open.

“Yo,” a familiar voice cut in, light and easy. Doombringer stepped inside like he owned the place, a slim stack of papers in one hand. “Got the report you wanted, Builder—” He paused, eyes flicking between the two men. His grin widened. “Ooooh. Did I walk in on a lover’s quarrel?”

Builderman’s expression darkened, but before he could bark back, Doombringer sauntered across the room. With no hesitation, he slung an arm around Shedletsky’s shoulders, pulling him in close like they’d been old war buddies all their lives.

“C’mon, cut the guy some slack,” Doombringer drawled, giving Shedletsky a shake that nearly rattled his teeth. “From what I heard, if it weren’t for him, that whole pizza joint would’ve gone up in smoke. Streets can be fixed, walls rebuilt—but you can’t replace lives.”

Shedletsky blinked, caught off guard by the easy defense.

Doombringer tilted his head, smirking at Builderman. “Unless you’d rather we sit on our asses every time an exploiter gets rowdy? Pretty sure that wouldn’t play well on the front page.”

Builderman’s jaw worked, his silence saying more than words. He took the report from Doombringer with clipped precision, but the fury that had just been aimed at Shedletsky had dulled to simmering embers.

Shedletsky exhaled slowly, tension easing just a fraction.

Doombringer gave him a wink. “See? Don’t sweat it. You did good, pal.”

Shedletsky forced a grin in return, though unease tugged in the back of his mind. Doombringer’s friendliness wasn’t unwelcome—but it didn’t feel right, either.

Leaving the office with Doombringer practically glued to his side, Shedletsky felt a weird lump in his throat. He appreciated the help, a lot. But it still felt strange to him, no matter how much he tried to justify it.

As if sensing the weird tension, Doombringer spoke up. “So, what went down between you and Builderman? Telamon.” His grin was sharp but easy, the kind you couldn’t read fully. “You two used to be quite tightly knit.”

Oh yeah, he’ll just tell Doombringer everything that went down. Like how he spilled his biggest secret onto Builderman and now Builderman seemingly hates him. He isn’t even sure anymore.

“I don’t know,” Shedletsky muttered, shrugging it off. “Guess he’s upset about something.” That was the safest response he could give. “Thanks for defending me.” He added quickly, shifting the subject.

“Of course!” Doombringer slung an arm around his shoulders again, his grip a little too firm, lingering a second too long. “We’re buds—we’ve been through hell and back since the beginning. I’ll always be open to help out, haha!”

For some reason, Shedletsky was reminded of himself when he looked at Doombringer. How bright and smiley the man was, how freely he carried himself. It only made Shedletsky think about how long it had been since he could be that way. Carefree. Light.

A smile tugged at his lips despite the unease prickling across his skin. “Thanks. I got your back too,” he found himself saying.

And even as Doombringer clapped him on the shoulder with that easy grin, Shedletsky couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t sure who had whose back.

Doombringer, though, eventually had to leave as he was being sent out to the bandlands to handle some ruckus there, so Shedletsky trudged back to his office alone.

He thinks about Doombringer. Shedletsky remembers, he remembers a time where he was carefree too. When he didn’t have to worry about so many things at once, when he didn’t have so many responsibilities that weighed down on him like a chokehold. His only light was 1x, his baby. But even then, 1x is growing up. 1x won’t need him at some point.

Everything felt so…bleak, suddenly. How hadn't he noticed? He never noticed how pieces of himself seemed to chip away more and more, and he feels like a shell of himself.

He doesn’t grin because it's easy anymore, he does it to hide tension. He barely cracks jokes anymore, god…he hasn’t even thought about chicken in a long while.

Staring up at the mold on the wall, his favorite passtime, Shedletsky feels so blank. He forced a grin onto his face, feeling his face muscles curve up, but he feels nothing.

It scares him.

What if he truly loses himself?

What if he’s becoming Telamon?

Was he damned from the start?

Shedletsky shook his head.

“Maybe it's just the conversation with Builderman that’s making me feel so heavy…” He buried his face into his hands. Remembering how every word punched him in the gut when Builderman berated him.

When had it all gone wrong?

Right.

It was because he was so damn dumb, to explode it all on Builderman. And now that Builderman knows the truth, it's like karma is biting him in the ass with the treatment he’s been getting.

Shedletsky has never felt this way before. Could it even be called a feeling? He doesn’t know how to describe it. It's not something where he wants to break down sobbing. It’s something else.

The days bled together.

Wake up. Make breakfast for 1x. Tell him goodbye. Go to HQ. Sit in the dingy office. Stamp, sign, shuffle papers. Go home. Make dinner. Repeat.

Sometimes he thought about cracking a joke, like about the mold, the paperwork, anything—but the words stuck like wet paper to the roof of his mouth.

The mold was spreading. He could smell it when he breathed, bitter and damp. Some days his chest felt tight. A headache throbbed behind his eyes, constant, dull. His skin prickled in places he couldn’t scratch away. But he said nothing. It was easier to pretend it was nothing.

On outings with 1x, he drifted. Nodded when 1x spoke, smiled when 1x looked at him, but his thoughts floated somewhere else entirely. He couldn’t even remember what half their conversations were about afterward.

It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t anything he could name. Just emptiness. He was there, physically, but not present.

And 1x noticed.

They were out walking again—just a quiet server, nothing flashy, nothing dangerous. 1x was talking about something on his phone, some new game update, his voice steady but casual.

“—so then I told him it’s not worth the grind, but he didn’t listen. Typical.”

Shedletsky nodded absently, eyes fixed on the cobblestones beneath his shoes. He hadn’t caught a word.

“Dad?”

Another nod. Automatic.

“…What did I just say?”

The question stopped him cold. He blinked, feathers ruffling as he scrambled for an answer. His throat tightened.

Silence stretched.

1x stared at him, arms crossed, unimpressed. But there was something else in his eyes too—something that stung.

“You’re not even here half the time,” 1x muttered. “You say you’re listening, but you’re not. You just… drift.”

Shedletsky opened his mouth, but no words came out. His chest felt heavy, breath thin. The mold’s bitter taste clung in his throat.

He forced a grin anyway. “Hey, I’m here. Look—I’m right here, kiddo.”

But it felt wrong. His cheeks curved up, his lips stretched, but the expression was empty. He knew it. And worse—1x knew it too.

For a moment, his son just looked at him. Quiet. Searching.

Then 1x shoved his hands into his pockets and walked ahead, muttering, “Whatever. Forget it.”

Shedletsky’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to call out, to say something, anything—but nothing came. Only that bitter, damp taste in his mouth, and the silence of his own footsteps trailing behind.

He felt like a shit father.

Just like Telamon.

.

.

.

Kookiez1x: Did Telamon ever show up again after that pizzeria incident?

Endersapple27: Nah lmao, I guess it's just a hoax. Telamon always disappoints 👎👎👎

Kookiez1x: Damn, that sucks. He’s not even the same Telamon anymore. Just some random dude LOL

Cyber89: NAH FR HAHAH like how can THAT even be called Telamon? 😂😂😂

GreenJ: People be tripping fr, that is NOT Telamon 😂

Endersapple27: Legit, like he shows up once in a blue moon, causes chaos, then dips

.

.

.

Shedletsky stood in front of a mirror, a black robe in hand. He stares at himself. He doesn’t look like himself anymore. He feels like a joke, everyone isn’t taking him seriously.

What if…

What if?

He looked down at the robe in his hand, before dropping it on Telamon’s bed. He pulls up the current clothes he’s wearing, and tosses them aside like nothing but trash. Telamon’s nude form in front of the mirror, he felt nothing. 

Reaching inside the closet, the furthest in the back where he shoved all of Telamon’s stuff aside, he picked out the belt, the other parts of the robe, the coverings.

Shedletsky doesn’t even think about it as he wraps the grey robe around Telamon’s body and securing the belt and putting on Telamon’s famous black and gold robe as he carefully slipped Telamon’s wings through and pulled the hood over Telamon’s face.

He stares into the mirror again, Telamon’s eyes obscured by the shadow of the hood. He looks like Telamon.

He feels like Telamon.

“…Dad?”

The voice behind him made him flinch. Slowly, he turned.

1x was in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and anger. His gaze locked on the robe, the hood, the way the shadows bent across Telamon’s face.

“What are you doing?” His voice cracked, quiet but sharp. “Why are you… dressing up like that again?”

Shedletsky opened Telamon’s mouth, but nothing came. He wanted to explain, to laugh it off, to say it was just a mistake—but the grin he usually hid behind wouldn’t come.

1x shook his head, arms crossing defensively over his chest. “I thought you changed. I thought you were done with this. But you’re just… slipping back, aren’t you?”

The robe suddenly felt heavier, suffocating. Telamon’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to tear it off—but the reflection in the mirror didn’t move. Telamon still stared back.

And in 1x’s eyes, Shedletsky saw it: disappointment. The kind that hurt worse than hate.

He wanted to explain that it wasn’t what 1x thought. He wanted to reassure him.

But nothing left him, leaving Telamon’s mouth open, unable to even let out a croak of noise before 1x stormed out, his stomps disappearing down the hall.

Shedletsky hears dripping, and looks down. The dripping is coming from…him? He looks up, back to the mirror, and sees a stream of tears that cascaded down Telamon’s cheeks

Telamon is crying.

But at what?

This isn’t Shedletsky crying, it can’t be. Because this is Telamon’s body. Everything is Telamon’s. It always comes back to Telamon.

The only person who calls him his name spits it out like an insult to the core.

Telamon’s throat tightened, Telamon’s chest heavy. Lately, it had been harder to breathe in his office—like the air clung to Telamon’s lungs instead of filling them. He coughed, sharp and wet, tasting iron at the back of Telamon’s throat. Telamon's head pounded with a dull ache that never seemed to fade.

The mold. He knew it was the mold. He’d joked about it before—counting spores, staring at patches spreading across the walls like constellations—but it wasn’t funny anymore. 

He staggered closer to the mirror, hood shadowing Telamon’s face. Telamon stared back. Telamon’s tears streaked down. Telamon’s robe clung heavy.

And suddenly, Telamon’s hand moved before his mind could catch it.

CRACK.

The mirror shattered under Telamon’s fist, shards raining into the sink, bouncing onto the floor. Pain flared hot across Telamon’s knuckles, blood mixing with golden motes as they seeped into the cracks. Telamon’s ragged reflection multiplied in a dozen broken pieces—Telamon’s hooded face staring back at him from every angle.

It felt like he couldn’t escape. Even bleeding, even coughing, even breaking the glass—Telamon was everywhere.

I’m not Telamon.

A choked noise left him.

I don’t want to be Telamon…

He dropped down onto his knees, feeling his breath hitch as the tears dripped down onto the floor in small delicate droplets. The mirror shards on the floor caught fragments of him — a dozen broken Telamons staring back. Hooded eyes, clenched jaw, wet cheeks. None of them looked like him, not really. They never had.

Then, he screams.

“I HATE YOU TELAMON!”

He didn’t know who he was screaming at — the reflection, the ghost everyone seems to expect him to play out. But he curls up on the cold, hard floor, shaking as if he’s in a tundra of snow.

Just where did it all go wrong?

Chapter Text

When Builderman first went to visit Telamon after the ridiculous news article about the visit to Crispy Crown, he didn’t expect anything special. But no, he was hit with a nervous bumbling Telamon who chuckled and smiled. It was bizarre, unreal. 

And Builderman, he’s not reckless by nature but he felt like something was off. And so he attacked first, and when ‘Telamon’ fought back, he began to doubt his decision.

The golden particles, the golden shimmer. It was uniquely Telamon’s. The cherry on top was when he heard those words.

“1x is my hatred.”

It wasn’t enough to make him fully trust this new Telamon, but it was enough to let him off the hook.

Builderman has known Telamon since the very beginning. He was the first Robloxian to be created, and alongside Doombringer, then Telamon. They were a trio, who existed in the beginnings of Robloxia until the world continued to grow and grow. 

He’s known Telamon for millennia, he knows how Telamon acts, how Telamon fights, how Telamon thinks. He remembers odd quirks, how Telamon would get obsessed with certain things and lock himself up in his home to get it figured out. Sometimes, Builderman wouldn’t even see Telamon for decades.

But that was fine, because he always ends up working right beside Telamon again. 

And only a decade later of silence after 1x1x1x1’s creation, Telamon was like a whole different person now. He only allowed Telamon to be off duty so that he could raise 1x1x1x1 under the radar, which went well, until it didn’t.

Builderman couldn’t understand, what changes did Telamon go through? Was it another one of his experiments? Did he attempt to ‘cleanse’ himself again? 

Telamon didn’t use a sword the way that he had seen moments ago. Hell—Telamon hasn’t used a sword in centuries. His domain was powerful enough that he didn’t need to fight in combat anymore. He was feared, heavily. 

He promised himself to keep a closer eye on Telamon.

And that was until he had gotten a call about another unstable code surge in West Robloxia City. And Telamon was there. Hanging on a thread.

The unstable code surges had been happening far too often, and he was stumped with paperwork. Builderman remembered how furious he was at Telamon, but focused on the damage control first before visiting the hospital Telamon was kept at.

Dusekkar had already beat him to it, so he was left with babysitting Telamon’s hatred who wrecked havoc, demanding to see Telamon. It shook Builderman. Telamon had never been the nurturing type. They’re all gods, and nurturing life is something many of them don’t understand.

Much less Telamon.

Actually, Telamon is the worst option to choose to nurture a child. Telamon was just so disconnected from emotions, like they were always muted. He could never feel on an intense scale. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if 1x1x1x1 had grown up badly, he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Telamon of all gods to raise something. But here 1x1x1x1 was, screaming and yelling, demanding to see his…

Dad.

Builderman couldn’t help but swallow the lump in his throat. Was this related to the weird change in Telamon that he noticed the last time they met?

What does Telamon feel about him?

Builderman didn’t dwell on it for much longer as Dusekkar walked out. 1x1x1x1 only gave him hardened glares if he didn't take him to Telamon’s hospital room, so he relented as the child launched himself at the winged god.

Telamon seemed…much brighter than he was used to. He seemed happier, although tired. It sent a mix of conflicted feelings inside of him, Builderman wasn’t sure. 

No matter the weirdness, the red flags, he talked to Telamon, and he answered what he wanted. Builderman felt a sort of thrill, did Telamon somehow break that wall inside him that muted his emotions? Or was it something else?

But no. It was all his delusions that tried to justify the change.

When he was removing the gauze off of Telamon’s wings, preening it and plucking out loose feathers when Telamon spoke.

It only escalated.

He was right. This wasn’t Telamon. This was just a broken man wearing Telamon’s face. The explosion of emotions and hardship hit him all at once, that he just needed a step back.

“None of it was your fault.”

Is all he said, before leaving.

For the first time, Builderman felt like a fool. His relationship with Telamon had always been complicated, but that little delicate dance they did together made him feel more whole than he ever felt when he was first created by the higher order. He never understood it himself, and neither did he try to understand.

And that regret hit him like a running truck. Because he’ll never get the chance to understand it ever again. He’s stuck with Shedletsky now. Who embodies everything about Telamon, but is so clearly different. He couldn’t stand to see the other man, burying himself in paperwork.

Builderman didn’t owe anything to Shedletsky. He did and said what he could and left. He doesn’t owe any explanations nor closure. 

But that’s just what he keeps telling himself.

Telamon is gone.

Forever.

…And yet, the ache Telamon left behind wouldn’t let Builderman forget him.

Builderman sort of hated Shedletsky for a while, during the time he spent training with Dusekkar. Of course he knew that Shedletsky was training, how could he not?

The resentment bubbled inside him. It was ugly, feral. If Shedletsky had never existed, Telamon would still be here. He almost believed it. Almost. But deep down, buried under that festering bile, he knew the truth—this wasn’t Shedletsky’s fault. Not really. The Void God had its hand in this. The balance was shifting. And yet… knowing the truth didn’t make the bitterness go away.

It was always him, Telamon, and Doombringer. A forever trio. Or so he thought.

Doombringer had changed too. He doesn’t know what happened, but he always felt a sense of deja vu whenever he saw Doombringer. The man didn’t go through a personality change, but something happened. On that mission he allowed Doombringer to go to because he believed Doombringer would be fine.

And he was correct, Doombringer came back in one piece. But something was off about him now, uncanny. Everything was just falling apart, and Builderman was desperately trying to rebuild the pieces.

He’s the God of Creation and Foundation. He could build cities from dust, raise towers that touched the clouds, and stitch broken servers back together. But this? This, he could not fix. No matter how he tried, the cracks only deepened. His trio was gone, Telamon erased, Doombringer changed, and for the first time since his creation, Builderman felt useless. Helplessness had never suited him—yet here it was, clinging to his ribs like rot.

And when the day finally arrived for Shedletsky to return to duty—though it should have been Telamon, Builderman couldn’t stop the resentment that gnawed at him. He wasn’t a petty man. He wasn’t someone who let grudges rule him. But that day, he led Shedletsky to a forgotten office, one left unused for years. He hadn’t even bothered to check what it looked like inside. He acted on impulse.

He saw the disbelief on Shedletsky’s—Telamon’s—face.

It was hard to look at him.

Builderman’s emotions felt like a dam had broken. He’d never been so out of control. He didn’t shout at people; he didn’t let anger dictate him. He was always composed, measured. But Shedletsky? Somehow, Shedletsky always found a way to rip that composure apart.

He yelled—out of frustration, out of grief, out of resentment he couldn’t untangle. Doombringer stepping in to defend Shedletsky was strange too, given their history. Odd enough that Builderman didn’t even know how to react. He let it go.

But the look on Shedletsky’s face stuck with him. That hollow, empty look.

It unsettled him.

No—it was just his imagination. Shedletsky had always been a reckless fool.

“The more you try to lie to yourself,” a low voice interrupted, steady as a flame in a lantern, “the deeper the wound, the greater the stealth. Blind you become to what you’ve sown, ’til consequence reaps what you should have known.”

Builderman stiffened. 

Dusekkar stood in front of him, almost looming. His pumpkin head tilted, staff lightly resting against the floor. The carved grin of the mask betrayed nothing, but the flicker of fire inside it felt uncomfortably knowing.

“It is not like you to be so cruel, Builderman, you know this breaks the rule. He does not deserve such spiteful fire—your anger blinds, your heart conspires.”

Dusekkar always seemed to know more than he should’ve. Builderman had grown used to it over the centuries.

“He only crumbles further still, soon he will shatter, against his will. Into a shape unlike himself once known, a fractured man, yet still alone.”

Builderman disliked how Dusekkar was always right. But it only stabbed into him like shards of glass, digging into his skin. He’s the first Robloxian, and still he gets told off by a younger god. How laughable, the mighty have fallen.

But he knows.

He’s been unfair. To Shedletsky. He’s been a right damn dick and the man didn’t deserve any of it. Builderman’s just been too lost in the past, in his grief that he turned into an uglier version of himself. He could barely recognize himself, when thinking back on past actions he had made toward Shedletsky.

Shedletsky may wear Telamon’s face, but there were distinct differences. His style, his personality, his expressiveness, his thoughtfulness and how proud he is to be a father. Shedletsky didn’t even have to take responsibility for 1x1x1x1, and yet he did. 

Shedletsky is a good man. Builderman just refused to see it.

He refused to see the good in Shedletsky.

Builderman hates the man he had become. He still has a chance to fix things, right? Nothing will be the same ever again but he just has to accept the change. Builderman has witnessed change for many, many lifetimes. What's one more?

Builderman swallowed his pride, voice lower than usual. “…Where is he now?”

Dusekkar tilted his pumpkin head, the lantern-flame within shifting. “At home he lingers, walls close, a silence heavy, a spirit cold. He stands upon his breaking seam, a fragile man unraveling dream.”

The words tightened something in Builderman’s chest. 

“Thank you, Dusekkar,” Builderman croaked, the words scraping out of him. He turned quickly, boots striking the stone as he headed for the door.

Was this his fault?

He had known Dusekkar long enough to understand the meaning beneath the rhyme: Shedletsky wasn’t in a good space. Not just tired or restless—he was at his breaking point.

Builderman’s jaw tightened.

He had to hurry. Before it was too late.

“SHEDLETSKY!!!” Builderman’s fists thundered against the front door of the mansion, shaking the hinges, but no answer came.

He gritted his teeth, slamming harder until the wood splintered, the whole frame groaning before it collapsed into chunks at his feet. He froze, staring at the ruined doorway—then shook his head. No time. Not now.

He charged inside, boots pounding across marble halls, breath harsh in his chest. Somewhere above, muffled through walls, he heard gasping—sobbing. A voice breaking with panic.

1x1x1x1.

Builderman sprinted, his heart hammering, until he reached the bedroom door. He threw it open so hard it slammed against the wall.

And froze.

1x was there on the floor, clutching and shaking Shedletsky like a ragdoll, his cries raw, tearing through the air. But Shedletsky… Shedletsky wasn’t even there. His eyes were distant, his body limp, clothed in the black and gold robe—Telamon’s robe. Hood drawn, wings draped heavy.

For a heartbeat, Builderman’s throat closed. The sight struck like a knife of déjà vu—Telamon, broken, unreachable.

But no. No, this wasn’t Telamon.

He forced down the lump in his throat, shoving past the weight in his chest. He couldn’t falter now.

Builderman’s eyes swept the wreckage—the mirror shattered into a hundred thin shards glittering across the floor like cruel confetti, the streaks of tears staining Shedletsky’s face, the limp weight of him draped in Telamon’s shadow.

“Shedletsky…” The name slipped out before he could stop it.

1x’s head snapped toward him, wide-eyed, his voice breaking into something small, fragile. “Help…him…please.”

And Builderman had no idea what to do. He had told himself he’d fix this. He was the God of Creation, for crying out loud—he built whole servers. But here, with this broken man and this terrified child, he couldn’t even think straight.

No time to hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides, ripping back the hood that smothered Shedletsky’s face. Without thinking, his palm cracked across his cheek.

“Shedletsky! Snap out of it right now!”

The sound of the name cut sharper than the slap.

1x froze, staring at Builderman like he’d just spoken in a foreign tongue. Bewilderment flashed across his face, his sobs faltering. Shedletsky? As if questioning Why was Builderman calling his dad something else.

Builderman didn’t notice—or didn’t care. His hand pressed to Shedletsky’s chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat hammering against his palm. His teeth grit as his voice rose, rough and raw.

“You better come back to reality this instant! You damn fool! Shedletsky, are you seriously going to throw yourself away when you’ve got a kid waiting on you?!”

1x’s throat bobbed, but no sound came out. The name—that name—still hung in the air like smoke.

The runny nose, the ragged breathing, the unfocused glaze in Shedletsky’s eyes—all of it screamed wrong. His skin was hot to the touch, feverish, and the wild stutter of his heartbeat against Builderman’s palm only deepened the pit in his stomach.

Builderman was no doctor. He wasn’t even close. But he didn’t need medical training to know this wasn’t just an existential crisis, or despair, or whatever storm Shedletsky was lost in. Something was eating at him from the inside out.

“Damn it,” Builderman hissed under his breath. His grip tightened against Shedletsky’s chest. “This isn’t just in your head… you’re burning up.”

He flicked his eyes to 1x, who hovered nearby, trembling and wide-eyed. “He needs a hospital. Now.”

But they couldn’t take him to an ordinary hospital. None of those things in an average hospital would hold against the body of a god. Even if Shedletsky wasn’t Telamon in soul, he wore Telamon’s flesh, and that demanded something different. Something bigger.

“The HQ server,” Builderman muttered, decision snapping into place. “It’s the closest place equipped for this.”

He pressed his palm flat against Shedletsky’s sternum again, drawing in a breath. Power hummed low in his chest, radiating out through his hand—soft, steady, golden-white. Builderman’s domain wasn’t healing, not truly, but creation and foundation bent under his will. He could stitch structures, mend cracks, shore up collapsing walls. And in this moment, Shedletsky’s body was just another structure.

“Hold together,” Builderman growled, sweat prickling at his temple as he pushed his energy into the failing rhythm beneath his hand. “I’ll keep your foundation steady until we get there. That’s all I can do.”

The fever heat in Shedletsky’s skin eased, just slightly, as if cooled by invisible scaffolds holding him upright. His heartbeat slowed, still erratic but less frantic.

1x stared, bewilderment shifting into something sharper; hope, maybe. “You’re… keeping him alive?”

Builderman didn’t look up. His jaw locked. “I’m keeping him stable. Now move. We’re running out of time.”

Builderman’s jaw tightened. He had no clue whether this was fatal, but it was bad enough. Far too bad. Between the fever heat, the ragged breathing, the unfocused eyes—it was enough to sound every alarm in his mind.

Acting quickly, Builderman slips his arms underneath Shedletsky’s body and hauls him up, his hold firm. The size of the wings were in the way, but he just acted without much thought. “1x1x1x1! Take out my server key from my toolbag on my belt!” He had completely forgotten about it, but it was essential to faster travel when they got to the server pad to hop servers.

1x fumbled with the toolbag at Builderman’s side, hands shaking, until he pulled out the server key—a jagged shard of code encased in glass, glowing faintly in his grip.

“Hurry!” Builderman barked, tightening his hold on Shedletsky as if the man might slip away at any second. His pulse thudded under his arm.

Builderman adjusted his grip, cradling Shedletsky tighter against him as he stormed through the ruined doorway. Shards of the broken door crunched under his boots, 1x scrambling close behind.

The night air hit them sharp, cooler than the suffocating atmosphere inside. Shedletsky shivered once, a weak twitch, before going limp again. Builderman’s jaw clenched. No time to waste.

“Stay close,” he snapped to 1x, wings flaring wide as he leapt into the street. His strides were heavy, urgent, carrying Shedletsky as though the weight of both the man and his memories pressed on his chest.

The city was quiet around them, but Builderman didn’t stop. His eyes locked on the faint glow just ahead—a server pad tucked near the district’s edge. The circular platform pulsed faintly, waiting.

“Here!” Builderman barked, his voice cracking against the stillness.

1x rushed to the terminal beside the pad, clutching the jagged server key like it burned. His hands shook as he jammed it into the port.

The platform roared to life, lines of light racing in fractal patterns across the stone. Energy hummed, rattling Builderman’s bones. He adjusted Shedletsky once more, muttering under his breath.

“Hold on, damn you. Don’t you dare give up, Shedletsky.”

The air folded around them, collapsing into streaks of raw code. In the blink of an eye, the street was gone.

They stood inside Roblox HQ’s server chamber, blue light still fading from the pad beneath their feet.

“1x1x1x1, get Dusekkar. Upper floor, turn left five doors down to the right. His office. GO! I’ll get him to the medical wing.”

1x froze for only a fraction of a second before bolting, his footsteps echoing in rapid thuds as he vanished down the corridor.

Builderman adjusted his hold and sprinted in the opposite direction as he charged through the vast halls of HQ. His chest burned with each breath, the weight of Shedletsky heavy against him—not just his body, but everything he represented.

Six years ago, it had been different. A quiet hospital in another server that other admins used to stay out of public eye. That was exactly why it was used back then, to keep Shedletsky hidden from the swarm of protestors and civilians who had swarmed Roblox HQ. Remaining hidden mattered more than anything.

But now?

Builderman’s jaw tightened, a grim line forming as he thundered down the last set of stairs.

To hell with secrecy.

The doors to the medical wing loomed ahead, light spilling through the cracks. Builderman shoved them open with his shoulder, voice already rising in a rare, panicked bellow.

“I need medics, now!”

.

.

.

Shedletsky remembered only blurs. He knows though, that he feels incredibly tired. The scratchiness in his throat was gone, and his nose felt clear. He felt like he could really smell the air, which was clean and smelled like disinfectant and chemicals.

His hands ached.

He felt like he was in a really bad spot. The memory skittered away whenever he reached for it, but one thing had kept him tethered.

“Shedletsky! Snap out of it right now!”

Shedletsky recognized that voice. Builderman. But instead of berating him, it was calling for him. He doesn’t know why he suddenly heard Builderman’s voice, but it kept him in reality. It helped remind him that he’s not Telamon.

That he is Shedletsky.

He forced his eyes open. White ceiling tiles, fluorescent light, the faint beeping of a monitor. A hospital. The last time he’d been in one was six years ago, after the code surge. But this time felt different. He felt… light. Not whole, not strong, but better. Like the weight pressing down on him had cracked just enough to let air in. Like the world didn’t feel so bleak anymore.

He knew he’d had a breakdown. About Telamon. About himself. About—something. The details slipped like water through his fingers. He remembered the robe. The mirror. The floor. 1x shaking him, crying.

The rest was gone.

Was it normal to forget?

God, he felt horrible though, for 1x. He’d been real shitty. And Shedletsky hadn’t even realized how his mental health had deteriorated that much.

He sat up with a grunt, his wings twitching and buzzing back to life with bloodflow. It looked like he was alone, for now. The room was white and sterile, the heart monitor beeped and he looked relatively fine. Though, his knuckles were bandaged.

“Man, things have been awful.” He muttered to himself, letting himself fall backwards onto the hospital bed before letting out a wince when he landed on his wings instead. He keeps forgetting about those.

Fidgeting with his hands, Shedletsky thinks to himself. He really didn’t want 1x to witness that, but maybe when he punched the mirror is when 1x came to investigate and that whole thing started. 

Even with all the training he did, Shedletsky felt so…weak. Incredibly so. He feels like he’s always breaking down at everything, he feels like he’s not taking anything seriously and that's why it always catches up to him in the end. Shedletsky knows it’s not his fault that he breaks down. He’s still human in the end, though in a god’s body. He isn’t perfect, but he can’t help but think negatively.

Maybe that's the reason why his mental health went to shit. He always just bottled it up, and still blamed himself in some sort of way.

“Haaaaaaaaah…..” Shedletsky let out a long-drawn out groan. He hates hospitals, the food sucked especially.

He rolled onto his side, looking down at the white tiles.

“I’d really kill for some chicken right now…” 

The thought startled him. When was the last time he’d even thought about chicken? Months? Maybe years. He huffed out something that almost resembled a laugh, muffled against the pillow.

Well, he’s feeling better now. So maybe things will get better. After he’s discharged, he can take 1x out to get some fried chicken.

It reminds him of the first time he gave 1x a bucket of chicken. He feels the smile widen on his face, remembering the soft little crunches hidden in the hallway when 1x swiped up that bucket of chicken he placed down. 

Yeah. Things will be different. They had to be. This time, he’d make sure to sit with 1x and share the bucket properly. And 1x will be able to try all the different flavors he told himself he’d have 1x try all those years ago.

Shedletsky closes his eyes, feeling lighter than he did when he woke up. 

Chapter Text

I don’t usually enjoy having chapters like this as announcements since I know you all are expecting more chapters. But uh…Things have changed now apparently. While I was doin my other stuff, and wasn’t spending every moment of free time writing, I realized just how tired I was. It’s mostly my fault, of course. But I didn’t realize how bad it was until I took a few days off.

This story won’t be discontinued, it just won’t be updated in a while. It could be weeks, months. Who knows? Just glad I caught it now rather than later. This also doesn’t mean i’ll stop writing. I have more ideas as well, I might write them out.

I also just want to thank you all for reading this story though, I really and truly do appreciate it. This writing project has been very ambitious and i’m glad for all of your support.

Also, with the 6 year time skip, a LOT could have happened during that time. BUT—I am planning on making a separate fic for it, since I can’t exactly include it in this one (or else it’d be filler or not important to the lore in this fic). It’ll either be in 1x’s POV or Shedletsky’s, but it’ll be more slice of life (I think).

Because, first off; we have 1x’s birthday. Shedletsky’s first time celebrating with 1x. Or maybe getting new electronics. Shopping trips. All that stuff that haven’t been included in this fic at all.

I worry that i’m rushing a bit with this story, since theres a lot that I took out to keep the story running. Same with 1x’s presence. He’s not exactly the most present, but I do hope to make him a more present character soon now that he’s grown up. Though, I did tag this story as a Shedletsky-centric, but I did advertise this story as something between Shedletsky and 1x. Just trying to keep the two balanced.

So that was just some thoughts I had, thanks for reading this message. I’ll hopefully be back again soon with another chapter.