Feral. Violence. Survival.
Baby, toddler, barely able to walk, bathed in blood, sinking blade into heart. No older spirit trapped, no ageless genius, the real thing, driven and twisted by torrents of death into a survival and killing machine. Spirit of survival, a will so strong it smashes past the boundaries of physical limitation. Unlock the killer inside. Eat guts for mush, blood instead of milk. A weak, normal baby. Pure luck. Pure will.
This is his legend.
