Phil is just trying to parent and the Nether keeps saying “physics is optional.”
Notes from Philza's journal after he found a 3-yo Techno. He had to go to Bad and Sapnap a lot since they were the only other Netherborns.
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Fire ≠ Bad. Fire, lava, even magma blocks — apparently not dangerous to Netherborns. They swim in it. I nearly had a heart attack when Techno toddled straight into a lava pool and came out giggling. Said it was “nice and warm.” I had to sit down.
Gold is a snack now. Sometimes he crunches on it like candy. Sometimes he sniffs it and tucks it away like a plushie. Comfort item? Cultural instinct? I don’t know anymore. I’ve stopped questioning.
They have a second language that’s 70% growls. I thought he was throwing tantrums. Turns out he was talking. Bad says it’s called “feral-speak” — used for emotional nuance and long-distance calls. Fantastic. My son can now scream entire conversations across biomes.
Four legs, good. Apparently walking upright is optional. The first time I saw Techno bolt across the room on all fours I dropped my sword. Bad just patted me on the shoulder and said, “He’s growing up.”
They howl. Like wolves. Loudly. Especially at moonrise. Or sunrise. Or when he’s proud. The villagers hate it.
They hunt. Piglins are omnivorous but lean predator. The teeth aren’t for show. I caught Techno stalking a chicken yesterday. It was impressive and horrifying in equal measure.
The glowing eyes are normal. Doesn’t mean possession. Doesn’t mean smiting. Just… piglin things.
Blazes have limbs, and they just retract them. I didn’t need to know that. I wish I didn’t know that. Sapnap demonstrated. I need therapy.
Demons = cats. Bad can purr, and it scares me.
Fermented netherwart is basically Nether booze. Everyone sane avoids it according to Bad. Techno once sniffed a piece and immediately backed away hissing. Never again.
Demon horns are weapons. Bad gored a ghast midair once. Still smiling about it. Terrifying creature.
Piglins can bark, roar, growl, and shriek. Sometimes all in the same sentence.
Piglin cubs = chaos gremlins. They wrestle constantly. I walked in on Techno and a bastion cub in a full wrestling match over a single nugget of gold. It ended with both of them napping in a heap.
Nether kids are social in the weirdest ways. They tussle to bond, screech to say hi, and share burnt fungus like snacks. Half the nearest fortress knows my kid now.
Conclusion: Raising a Netherborn is 40% panic, 30% cleaning soot off everything I own, 20% pretending I know what I’m doing, and 10% absolute awe at how fiercely alive they are.
If he starts breathing fire next, I’m calling Sapnap.
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Volume II: The Adolescent Arc.
1. The growling has changed. Used to be cute little snorts and huffs — now it’s rumbles. Actual, chest-deep, “I could challenge a ghast to a duel” noises. Apparently this is normal for young piglins finding their voice. I’ve learned to respond with calm authority instead of my sword. Usually.
2. Everything is a dominance test now. I tried to tell him to clean up his room. He stared me down. Growled. I growled back (Bad said that helps). He laughed. Then cleaned up.
4. Feral screeching now doubles as a summoning call. He can—and has—called Sapnap from two miles away.
Bad found this “adorable.”
5. Lava diving is now a sport. Techno and Sapnap have contests to see who can stay submerged the longest. Loser owes the other a gold nugget.
My blood pressure: catastrophic.
6. The Nether pack instinct is kicking in. He circles people now. Sniffs them. Decides if they’re friend or prey. Ranboo passed. Tommy passed. Quackity didn't. (In fairness, Quacks was waving a raw porkchop around.)
7. Training has begun. Bad’s teaching him how to channel that feral focus into combat. I’ve seen them spar. It’s terrifyingly elegant — all snarls and smoke and muscle memory. Bad says, “He’s doing well.” I say, “He’s twelve.” Bad says, “Exactly.”
8. He’s started… challenging me. Nothing serious, just little things — trying to knock the sword from my hand, shoulder-bumping me in mock fights, refusing to back down from eye contact. Apparently, in Nether culture, that’s affection and a test of respect. He grinned when I finally pinned him down in a spar. Called me “Old Chief.” I think that’s a compliment. Probably.
9. The howling has harmonies now. He doesn’t just howl alone — he howls with others. Sometimes the whole Nether echoes back. Sometimes Bad joins in.
10. I caught him teaching Tommy and Tubbo “feral-speak.” I have three children growling at each other over breakfast now.
11. He’s growing tusks. Not big yet, but they’re sharp. Techno always had them, at least he did by the time I found him at three, but now they're actually growing. He tries to hide them when he smiles. He doesn’t need to — they suit him.
12. He still curls up like a piglet when he’s tired. No matter how big he gets, he’ll drag his blanket to my chair, flop down, and snore like a tiny furnace. And for all the chaos and claws and growling… he’s still my boy.
Final note: I think I’m raising a future warlord. Or a future king. Or both. Either way… I’m proud. And terrified.
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