I am a mixture of different genetics, from a small mutation that makes two different color patterns, to a mythological beast with parts of several different species.

A guardian of some renown, I perch like a spear. I sit beneath the crown, and strike any who draw near. I am a brethren with a spine, and may let you enter my hall. Against giants I hold the line, but not those who are small.

The use in me is left for dead A single flaw is what infects What's in me can't lift its head Press F, pay your last respects

I’m stuck, like a sheet of glue. If loose, I must be wound. My ribbon transfers through. A sight or mix of sounds. Record what’s deemed by you. Now boxed up, where I’m found. Ironic is my fate, it’s true. I seal what keeps me bound.

I have no form, yet I can fill a room, I follow chaos, and quiet the boom. I’m not a word, yet I’m often said, When voices rise, I’m called instead.