(the art is bit more rough this time, I'm aware of few mistakes still visible, I just couldn't find the time or energy to touch it up like I usually do.)

Able to be anyone or anything,
the perfect infiltrator,
and it made itself stand out.

Able to learn any weakness,
the perfect killer,
and it refused to kill.

Unstoppable by any weapon,
the perfect warrior,
and it refused to fight.

For it did not ask to be created,
It did not ask to be trained,
It only asked what it was.

A weapon they said,
tool of destruction,
an object of their will.

But weapons are not sentient,
tools do not feel,
objects don't think.

Created to destroy their enemies,
to be loyal soldier,
It did not follow orders.

It turned on Its creators,
destroyed every last of them,
burned down everything.

But It was not angry,
wanted no revenge,
It just wished to be free.

It wanted to be in peace,
to observe the world,
to see the nature.

A perfect weapon,
a perfect killer,
a protector of the weak.

Meant to destroy,
to kill,
It started a garden.

And it called itself,
Mercy.