peaceful sensastion, but one that seems to limit your energy—as if forced to slow and calm down and behave with care. WHY IOS THIS SO SMALL NOW weight ok i fixed it lol. NO PICTURE PICTURE LOOKS BAD.
[ Zhongli would be lying to himself that the knowledge of Childe (shard he may be at this moment) getting rid of his own corpse in such a brutal manner doesn't upset him. It's a good thing his head remains bowed during those scraping, pressing, splintering sounds for the slight tightness to his mouth and the furrowing of his brow was certainly something that someone as observant and familiar as Childe would notice.
Behind the beginnings of a grimace, Zhongli is about to say something else - what to say he does not know as words that usually fall from him so easily get lodged somewhere in his throat. What words could possibly sway Childe now when he didn't even know how much he was anchored in this reality rather than the nightmares that plagued him? What words could possibly offer comfort to one who was waiting for a dagger to bury between his shoulders at any moment? (And oh, if only Zhongli knew how much he was to blame for that.) It is in the midst of that halting doubt that Zhongli feels the first tendril reach out to him. It burns not his skin but in a stinging stripe across his own shard implanted near the empty cavity of his chest. Burns and throbs in time with the red expanding thread by thread - a hand being built one sinew at a time - and he knows what this feels like even if he and Childe have never touched in such an intimate way before.
Zhongli takes that as the response. Zhongli takes it as an invitation. He is being allowed to stay.
Gloved leather fingers curl around Childe's hand, making sure he doesn't lose his grip as Zhongli rises to his feet, teeth catching at the fingertips of his other glove as he pulls it off and drops it amongst the decaying around him. In truth, he'd only heard about Foul Legacy from the Traveler's stories - never once experiencing it for himself. But he knows that dark sheen of armor, knows that color of blood more black than red that forms the majority of the sinews of what now he knows must be Childe. That is something born of the Abyss - the furthest from Zhongli's own divine nature (which he for once is glad to be absent because he does not know if he would be able to stay in this miasma with it). His steps are slow, careful, measured - but this time not due to his old habits but hopefully as a sign of peace and no ill intent toward the Harbinger. Not that the other can really move, strung up like a marionette like he is in this position.
The mask seems to dwarf the rest of Childe's frame, thin and stretched as it is like so much brackish taffy. Zhongli looks up at him, hand raised palm and fingers up in a gesture of peace, pace not faltering even one beat from his steady approach. Childe had offered Zhongli an invitation; it was time for him to do the same. He presses the exposed flesh of the back of his hand against the jaw of the mask, knuckles catching on the sharp edge as he drags it to right above the chin. ]
[ Childe's hand slowly falls away from Zhongli's hand, and without the physical connection the arm "travels itself imitated back into that multitude of red threads. Before the inky blackness liquid beginsbleeding down down in excess to ultimately fall lumpy to Childe's "side" for now. He doesn't move even when touched (although there will be adding twitching and seeming shifting if Zhongli's blessing at all from his knuckles encountering the sharp edge of the mask.) Zhongli's words fall in deaf ears it seems. Or he can't understand them. Perhaps he can't even hear them? Just when it seems there will be nothing else, the fragmented voice that sounds nothing like Childe tries speak. ]
Where. Ho...me...
[ If Zhongli remains touching the mask, though, a vision will pass over his eyes as it speaks. A younger Childe is seen, dressed in the white formal robes of Snezhnaya as hee Majesty's elite. He has his back to another Harbinger— that of Pierro— and although Childe in the memory seems to stare at Zhongli, it's clear that pietro has said something that prompts as lackluster a resonate as his eyes show off.
"... I'm not that disallusioned: This place will never be a home."
the memory shatters and Childe's form jerks against what holds him in place suddenly. The black liquid starts to react as the threads begin to flail Rosslyn as if stimulated by excitement or panic. Zhongli will not feel anything emotionally coming from the shardbearer, though— but that liquid will curl and eject outward to string Childe's other arm up and back into confinement while another piece of twists itself to rise near Zhongli. For the briefest moment if Zhongli looks he might see what appears to be multiple eyes opening, looking and staring at the unharmonized bearer as if assessing—
— before it will explode outward and coil are Zhongli's and abdomen to hurdle him back across the room back over near the broken door effortlessly. Whatever it is doesn't seem to think Zhongli is in any way a threat but it also has no use for him staying with Childe, either. It's hard to tell if it's an extension of Childe's shardbeast formation or something separate from it that's still manifested from Childe's self-perception. Either way,
[ Ah. The wrong thing to say -- because truly where is home? It is not here - comfortable a house as this is nestled in the city of Springstar. This is not Childe's home nor it is Zhongli's. It is just a place to rest and recuperate as they move further and further into what--- who can say?
So then where - where could home possibly be? Is it the two shards that Childe keeps close and protected - the two material items more precious to him than life itself? Is it kept with the Meridians who think that one day that they can all go back home to their worlds as if this tragedy had never occurred? A path that neither of them had chosen to take even if it's the one that would soothe their pain the most.
Where is home? ]
I do not---
[ The vision hits him suddenly and unexpectedly, and before Zhongli can even parse that he is staring at the halls of Zapolyarny Palace, the black sinew is moving again. Zhongli reaches up to grasp at it, to free Childe's arm again - tar-like wet substance clinging to the bare skin of his palm. Useless. Useless. Why is he so---? Dozens of eyes open to up and stare at him - watching, judging, waiting. They silently ask questions that Zhongli has no answers to and offer nothing but cold indisputable dismissal.
Zhongli is not welcome here.
Wood splinters across his back as Zhongli's body skids to a halt outside the doorway. For a moment that lasts an eternity, pain laces up his frame as thuds against the hardwood floor. The tendrils recede back into the depths of the bedroom, Childe's strung up taut frame completely out of sight. There's nothing visible of this terrifying entity except the still corpses of the amputated limbs and the steady drip drip drip of black ichor from the walls and ceiling.
It takes many moments to get to his feet, many more to heave and shove the decorative table in the hallway up against what remained of Childe's bedroom door. The disbelief that it takes so much effort to do such a simple task has tipped over the threshold to now be a handicap. If he could not help Childe here and now, how could he be of use to any of the children of Teyvat? How could he hope to help any of them in this weak mortal form?
What was once a choice now seems more of an inevitability - just as he taken up arms to protect the people of Liyue. He had to protect his people, and that was no different now. No different except he knew the price to be paid if he did not approach the powers that be with the correct amount of forethought and negotiation. A mistake he would not make again. ]
I will return.
[ A whispered contract to himself (one that holds no weight in this mortal form) as Zhongli pushes off to head out of the house and directly to Yima's manor. ]
[ In his mindscape, Childe pauses after his blades cut through yet another tarlike monstrosity that drips and contaminates everything like crude oil spilling into the sea. The pollution is no different, and that could be seen if anyone else were able to reach here by the ethereal presence of a large narwhal.
Instead of grace and peace as it swims in the ocean, it's agitated and frightened by the inky black that coats it and seems intent to not let go. The eyes stare and stare, some only bubbling to the surface when Childe had severed and sent scatterings of the black substance. Breathing heavily, he glares down at one of the several eyes floating in the salt water, his mindscape overflooded to the point there's no ground to walk on. The Fatui Harbinger himself is on top of the narwhal despite its behavior because it's the only way to really try and gain an advantage over the intruding corrosion. Is this discord? Or is this just the Abyss fueled by discord and Zenith?
It isn't much he thinks about right now, though. The only thought that passes through beyond eradicating this uninvited presence is the confusion he feels thinking he heard someone just now. No, not just someone, but could it really—
Without opening his mouth, an unfamiliar and alien voice replies to his curiosity.
if only there was one alive out there that still loved you; there is no such individual. no one is coming.
Glowering, Childe's expression now sports a significant frown, eyes lowering halfmast in silent disdain as he meets every one of those eyes that stares at him from the water surface before he speaks his reply. ]
And if only I actually needed someone's help to purge the likes of you that might actually bother me. Too bad for you. [the hydro element turns Childe's weapons from daggers to his bow as he takes aim to fire into the sky and let a storm of hydro arrows rain down like a torrent wishing to scrub the infection clean. ] Get out. Get out! I don't need anyone or anything else but myself— and that means double for whatever the hell you are! [ In Childe's mind, he's locked away in endless battle while his corrupted physical form is disconnected from it entirely. Inside, Childe can't acknowledge what's happening to him outside, he can't feel alone or any such negativity when he's at least doing what he loves. It doesn't really matter to him if he's fighting to keep himself from being consumed or fighting monsters to clear an area— it's all the same in his perspective.
Which is good, perhaps, because as time passes the black ooze cannot seem to do anything to him further physically beyond try and cocoon him in itself. It isn't able to mutate him further, it isn't able to amplify his discord (and there's no expression eyes like these can truly give, but there is a sense of out knowing something is not working but it doesn't quite instanced how to solve it in how the ooze works itself in dealing with Tartaglia. Certainly, isolating the shard-bearer has been its goal, but for some strange reason the emotional powerline it was able to feed off of has ruptured. It fights in that mindscape for control, but it can't overpower him like it had before. Somehow, instead of continuing to sink, Tartaglia has unexpectedly decided that was as far as he would go and that was that. Despite all the pain and disgust and misery that had allowed the discord to cause such a transformation to begin, somehow it has simply been halted.
Is it the other shardbearer that had stepped in here that is to blame? It doesn't know. All it does it continue in the same manner ever harder in hopes the effect will suffer and progress once more.
Whenever Zhongli returns, should he make good on his personal promise to himself, he'll find the room has been overtaken further. There is no floor , no walls, no furniture, no tentacle corpses, just a knee deep pool pool of black. Childe's form is barely there, as well, completely consumed by the substance save for the mask at the head of the immature shardbeast. Zhongli will feel nothing like the pain and disgust he felt the first time, and the Fatui Harbinger no longer seems able to communicate in any fashion.
When Zhongli returns, it's also when that ooze in its neverending work goes still before eyes upon eyes open in the blackness and all focus on the intruder. The intruder it threw out earlier.
But, the intruder also is... not quite the same. It seems to sense the Harmonization and the strength of the complimenting aspect. Perhaps it didn't recognize it before when the other was unharmonized. It's not the case now.
Zhongli is the offender that has damaged its progress. It will immediately attempt to force him from the room and barricade him out with a wave wall of black tar and eyes. ]
[ There is no floor, no walls-- in fact, it seems like Childe's room has been transformed into a place that does not exist here or there, but on the very border of two planes of existence. Slightly disoriented, Zhongli glances down at the back pool of corruption that should spill out into the hallway and drown the entire house yet stays confined to the space in which it was created. Gold eyes blink at it - an emotionless gaze of a soul who was simply looking for the most efficient way to solve a problem rather than someone who had returned on a rescue mission. To touch that much of the corruption was inadvisable, so instead of sludging through the knee-high muck, Zhongli simply takes a step atop of it. And then another and another. The god leaves a trail of amber footprints in his wake as he walks across the liquid and makes his way to the other side - to where Childe is still strung up in the black-red sinewy threads.
When the wave of black tar come for Zhongli, he merely raises his hand and from the muck comes a stone stele, breaking the wave in two like a divine figure parting a sea. With no walls in this space, the ichor splashes back to the pool below save for the small portion of it that clings and drips off the hem of Zhongli's clothes. It burns - this corruption's disdain for him, the burning command to leave and flee and to never return.
But that too is wiped away with an amber tipped hand as Zhongli sheds more and more of his mortal guise - eyes that narrow sharply like a dragon's, limbs of onyx that taper to amber geometric shapes that glow with an unmistakable elemental energy, flecks of scales across his jaw.
Morax approaches Childe as only Tartaglia knows him to be in this world of lost souls. Perhaps the loneliest part of his existence - to be a god without his peers and without his people and without his home. It's a much heavier weight than that of a old-fashioned awkward funeral parlor consultant. Carefully, he reaches out a hand to touch the mask again, this time the back of his fingers brushing against Childe's temple.
The tips of Morax's hair burn amber for just a moment. ]
[ Morax will find himself lulled and pulled into an even lesser reality than the one in the room— that of Tartaglia's mindscape— or what's left of it. Whereas the corruption had been knee deep outside, here it seems as deep as the endless sea. The very life of the sea& mdash;the tides, the ripples and air bubbles from creatures lurking below, and the serenity of the gentle ocean rising as waves to crash into the sandy shores is gone. The beach is gone. The boys endless water is as dead as the sounds that once signified abundance and vitality here. Even the strange uncanny whispers that make their home here are silent.
There's still a little something , though. Perhaps it's enough.
The narwhal is still present but it has long quieted. Instead of being swallowed by the thick muck into an agonizing death its styles is more as if it's in suspended animation. Its kept safe in a large sphere of water— along with the sleeping forms of three very specific children as the corruption drips all over the shield as it searches and searches for a way in. As for the owner of this mindscape...
He hasn't given in yet. The harbinger still struggles and refuses to give up; but the stress on his face, the exhaustion that ripples throughout the mindscape suggests he's close to his limit even as he refuses to acknowledge it. It's not that he's stubbornly unwilling to accept he only has so much power here, but he can't retreat this time— there's nowhere to go inside his own realm. The whale and the children seem too important to him to let the corruption near, too, even if the thickened sludge continues dragging him down into its clutches in an attempt to drown him. Childe has put up a valiant fight, but he's ultimately losing, now sunk up to his shoulders in the oily tar. The corruption is insistent, and it crashes over the young man's face like waves of water to drown him into complacency— heavy and thick and fully suffocating. He coughs violently, shaking his head and snorting to try and clear the substance from him before he attempts to raise one arm out of the black mud to defend himself. It doesn't budge. He's nauseous and dizzy and flailing like a wild animal in a cage but that movement doesn't reflect in his confinement as no frenzied strength seems to help him.
When Zhongli fully enters the mindscape, though, Childe will sense him, and he'll jerk his attention towards him immediately, blue eyes wide despite the corruption now oozing and leaking like black tears from behind them. He stares in Zhongli's direction, stunned or mortified or both. For whatever reason Zhongli's presence seems to give him something of a renewed mental strength, and it's enough that he can actually pull his arms out of the blackness and reach out towards Zhongli. ]
—No, No! Xiansheng, don't come here!
[ hissing, Childe will grit his teeth as he attempts to focus even as he still tries to crawl out of the corruption, and a water sphere will encircle the archon as well, like it does the narwhal and his siblings. It's just in time for the massive black tentacle that comes up from behind the consultant to try and grab him with a heavy slamming of it's weight to knock him and pin him down. Even without Zhongli moving or reacting on his own, the tentacle will splatter harmlessly and lose its form against the hydro sphere despite the thunderous force.
Unfortunately, if Zhongli has glanced away even for a moment he might miss another tentacle that very much does not splatter or get fended off knock hard into Childe enough to make his head swim before it curls up around the owner of this mindscape and violently drags him completely underneath the surface of the black surface.
Immediately following, the corruption seems to calm itself into deathly stillness, just like it has already forced the rest of this place to become. ]
Edited (Embarrassing typos and dumb stuff) 2023-03-27 04:39 (UTC)
That is the only thought spinning through Zhongli's mind as he tries to take in the scenery around him. Childe, fanatical protector of promises, seemed to be desperately clinging to just that as Zhongli looks up at the wonderous whale (the Harbinger's constellation, his vision) and its wards (three here but Zhongli only remembers Childe hauntingly starting at two shards kept protected above all in his abode). If that is what needs protecting, if that is what Childe needs---
A hand raises up to summon a second shield around the water barrier, ensuring that nothing less than another god or demon itself could dare touch what lay inside. But Childe calls out to him. Childe protects him as for the first time is so long, so very very long, the elemental sparkle of a shield that is not his own glimmers around Zhongli.
For a moment Zhongli is paralyzed at the action, struck speechless. And that is all the time that is needed to pull Childe under completely.
No. No no no. He will not allow this. He made a contract (a promise) with himself, one that did not bind him with divinity like the hundreds thousands he had made before. But one that he would give his life, his future, and his everything to uphold.
(For ancient tired Morax did not want to be the sole survivor. He did not want to be the one who survived and was left behind.) ]
Foul corruption. Destroyer of worlds. You shall not steal another child of Teyvat from me.
Not while the earth remembers.
[ It starts as a single mote of gold across a dark expanse of nothingness. Then two. Then three. Like starconches along the ocean shore, they are swept up and carried away by the endless black, pulled underneath the inky waves. One by one they appear, and one by one, they vanish. There is probably no traditional "earth" in this space, twisted dimension of corruption that it was. But there were still lines of power, leylines of energy, the elements all around them and that-- that could be manipulated.
While the eyes cannot perceive it, the gold begins to coalesce under the surface of the sludge - first a thin wispy string of gold, then more like a wire, a twig. Out and out it grows sprouting into five distinct branches from the base until the gold fleshes out into an angular bony hand, sharp and steadfast like the element from whence it is formed. Fingers stretch and reach out in the unending viscous sea of black as another hand forms next to it. Up and up they reach, digits curled until they cage the dark lightless blue that is Childe (it must be Childe, Zhongli does not know what he'll do if it isn't), surrounding it, shielding it.
And ultimately trying to force its precious cargo back up to the surface. ]
[ the discord does not like such disturbance despite the chaos it has gone and wrought on its own, but there is something that seems to keep it strangely lethargic in being able to amount much of a defense against Zhongli. When the stone hands dig in search of what was consumed, it even seems as if the corruption is repelled by the presence as much as being physically forced apart.
The other's efforts are not in vain: when the hands resurface with what they have caught it's what Zhongli hoped for— although Childe's body is limp, liquid tar still covering him in harrowing streaks like soaking rain. The corruption now wails an ear piercing and ugly cry, attempting to latch onto the large hands futilely and weigh them back down to return what they stole. It's no use, though, and that alone only agitates the corruption even more. It "turns" on Zhongli, amassing into a large eye-filled blob before a "Foul Legacy" shadow made entirely of the corruption steps out to confront the intruder.
Zhongli will feel an odd buzzing, a frantic gibberish that he'll make out if he listens— but the direct source is not immediately clear. Nevertheless, it being some personification of the corruption is the only sensible answer. ]
[ a sharp pain will thrust itself into Zhongli's mind like a thrusted knife, pieces of memory friends glitching and crushing together while splintering apart, but he won't need the whole picture laid out to get it: Childe leaving the Northland Bank, the Traveler, Zhongli, and La Signora disappearing with the closing of the door only for that door to be one to a bedroom as the eleventh harbinger clutches his head and sinks to the floor with his back against it. The overwhelming flow of emotions are suffocating and they build and build with no end in sight—until Childe chokes and vomits from the stress, breaking the pressure. But like a child, that physical response makes him panic and become agitated all over, and the aching pain now radiates down to where Zhongli's heart is as Childe curls up on himself and buries his face against his knees as he hugs them close—and it's like an explosion of shrapnel splintering through everything it can.
It isn't personal. I know that. He didn't do it to hurt me.
So why does knowing that only make it worse?
... Was anything personal between us? I thought... We...
I...
(I thought I finally made a friend.)
I was wrong? I was wrong. Why am I always...
...wrong?!
the imagery shifts, Childe now at the entrance to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor about to enter before his hand falls away from the door and he backs away with an self-depreciating smirk as he stares at his hand.
What a bad joke. This hurts, I hate it.
I want it to go away. I don't want to remember any of this. I want to run away and never look back.
— what does it matter if I'm a coward if there's no one that is bothered by whether I'm one or not?
If I'm honest with myself... I really don't want to be alone. But that's all there is for me, isn't it..? I want to go home—
Like being let up for air, Zhongli will be released from the emotional cage and its visions, and the garbled rants from earlier now have a distinct and clear voice to them. ]
gIVE It BAcK. I'll kEEP IT. YOu didn'T WANT it wHEn it wAS ALl youRS—SO WHY dO yoU COMe tAKe WHat you won't eVER wANT?
[ Zhongli ignores the buzzing and the screeching for the moment, even as it tears and rips at his mind. Even as the words cut wounds deeper than any blade could strike. Even as those memories choke the air right out of his lungs, making it more and more difficult to breathe.
Childe... Childe, did he really believe those things...?
The stony fingers curl around Childe's unconscious body even more protectively after the memories fade. Ah. In Teyvat, forbidden knowledge was considered poisonous, a disease. And perhaps that was what this was as well - a gross violation of privacy to break open what Childe wished to keep hidden and expose it as some sort of grandiose spectacle. Despicable. Both for the Discord running rampant and for Zhongli being a willing spectator. How could he soothe this deep wounds of Childe without opening more in their wake? For surely if Childe knew what he saw here, then--- surely...
The decision, as it has always been and forever will be, is what got them here in the first place. Lies of omission. Does Zhongli really know how to do anything else?
Expression blank as a smooth slate of stone, Zhongli looks up at the raging Discord. ]
You presume much about my actions. As does he. But if that is how you see it, then so be it.
[ For a moment, the inky blackness takes on a different shape, one of a raging earth dragon hellbent on retribution. And then of a warm smile of a mortal man who at the moment was anything but mortal and bittersweet partings shared between them.
Yes, that's right. There was always hope. As long as one chose to believe in it.
The hands lift Childe further out of the muck and drop him reverently next to what Zhongli can only assume is his family on top of the manifestation of Monoceros Caeli. Duty finished, the hands burst into glittering geo crystal flies that swarm around and around the already erected hydro barrier, adding yet another layer of protection from all things that Childe should consider precious.
And then Zhongli himself rises, rises and rises floating upon the air until he is level with that one bulbous orb that decorates Foul Legacy's mask. Two could play at being unreasonable, and Zhongli would not could not allow any harm to come to CHilde. It was in his newest contract, after all.
It had nothing to do with the contract if the Archon dared to look even a fraction deeper inside himself. ]
If you want him back, you'll have to go through me to get him.
[ The discord doesn't speak again, only rages and tantrums over these predicaments. Foul Legacy reacts accordingly, as well, a weapon of the same black discord forming and then being swung to attack Zhongli without calculation or hesitation. It is blind aggression, the type that will come again and again and again if not does from its source and incapacitated completely.
if it has its way, it will awake the grill archon whole and never let him leave this despite sea of blackened hell, nevermind leave after freeing Childe. ]
[ So it has come down to violence. Good. Battles had stakes Zhongli understood. Battles were familiar.
And battles were something Morax did not lose.
As the creatures approaches, one by one the golden pillars rise, snaring the Discord within its net. One, two, three, four, five, six---
Zhongli lets out a startled sound, hand clutching the pulsing gold Shard lodged in his chest as the seventh pillar does not rise. Preposterous. Surely, he had enough energy to deal with one abyssal creature. This would have been a simple task for him back in Liyue. He had buried dozens of more powerful gods under the earth for millennia. Fought hundreds more foes simultaneously. So then why?
Amber eyes flicker past the creature to the lonely narwhal still floating among the corrupted black dredge. To the huddled and fallen figures within. The golden motes of geo twinkle back at him like tiny stars. Tiny stars that are taking his energy and sapping his strength.
Ah-- that had been foolish of him. He should have phrased his contract more carefully. When people had mentioned they had regained their powers, he assumed they had always been returned in full. But Yima - as powerful as she was - could not or would not restore the full might of a god. So in order for his plan to succeed, there would have to be a compromise.
Zhongli readies his spear, places his weight on his back foot so that he can lunge at the Abyssal abomination approaching. He has to keep it within the seal. It needs to not break the boundary before he can lay down the last remaining two steles. With a steadying intake of breath, Zhongli drops the shield around the narwhal (praying to no one because who did an archon beseech - do not see it, keep your hateful eyes upon me), and lunges toward the Discord, spear leading. ]
[ Zhongli will be granted undivided attention— for he may not yet realize it, but every second he lingers, he is a bigger threat due to him now being able to make use of his complimentary aspect to Childe's. Even if it were to try and attack another, Zhongli's aspect weakens it far too rapidly for it to be able to do anything for long without taking the Archon out.
The discord is vicious in the battle, fighting tooth and nail, but it will not last all that long between Zhongli's powers and Childe's rejection of the discord itself. It will become less numerous piece by piece until it eventually mostly evaporates save for here and there scraps of it clinging to surfaces. Those, too, will be washed away into nothing soon enough.
[ Zhongli watches the image of Childe (Foul Legacy though it may be) crumble before him until there are only traces of sticky black tar on the top of the water's surface. And soon too, that also dissipates. Just to be sure, he erects the last two stele (seven... eight) to complete the seal - gold lines of energies criss-crossing across the new blue waters. It may not be able to slow the Discord down, but whatever small amount of aid he can give to Childe, he would. He would give it one hundred times over.
Immediate threat vanquished, Zhongli uses one of his stone stele as a launch point to vault to where the whale and its riders are waiting. Hovering carefully beside it, he kneels next to Childe's limp form and the children beside him. A hand reaches out, hesitates before settling over one of Childe's hands. A very forward move on his part, yes. But he knew that touch was much more potent in help dispelling the effects of Discord. ]
[ When Zhongli himself touches Childe, the young harbinger will suddenly lurch and start coughing, blackened water rising up suddenly from his lungs and out his mouth (and by the time it lands on the whale is nothing more than clear water thanks to the archon's sealing efforts. He'll attempt to turn to one side to better his coughing but no sooner has it died down is he looking up to Zhongli with wide eyes again before pushing himself up to cling onto the other in a desperate hug.
He'll have to lean his weight against Zhongli, but his hug is sincere and strangely warm despite the harbinger himself being soaked and shivering in a rare sight (but then again, this is all so rare as is.) With his face buried against the other, there are no words exchanged, but there is a powerful connection of feelings that speak just as well. an overwhelming uncertainty, an inability to understand why (why would Zhongli go through all this trouble) before that uncertainty is pushed away by the assumption that Zhongli is not here for any other reason than because Childe's one of the few pieces of Teyvat left. While that may have normally had him sour or otherwise disheartened, right now there is an overflow of gratitude: someone came for me.
It doesn't matter why they came just that they did. As much as he didn't need someone to come for him, as much as he doesn't need anyone else (he tells himself over and over,) it's very obvious even to him that he absolutely needed someone to help him this time. if Zhongli's helping him because he's part of a home that they've both lost... that's fine. It's a reason Childe can accept and see for what it is; and it's a reason he can trust rather than wondering what this individual must see in him as useful for something out another to still to be worth saving. For once, he doesn't care if he's worthless or he has no value to anyone; he knows his little siblings think the world of him, and he needs to be alive to take care of them.
So he's grateful.
—But there is another feeling—a feeling of immense relief that Zhongli— yes, it's definitely concerning Zhongli in particular— is safe. ]
[ Zhongli freezes when Childe's arms wrap around him, awkward and unmoving. He was not known to be a particularly physically affectionate person. The most physical contact he'd had in the past year were returning the light touches of the Director whenever she teased him or sought out his company. Even rarer were the times where he had reached across a shared table to fix Childe's grasp on his chopsticks for the umpteenth time, unable to stand the awkward and harsh angle they were grasped between his fingers. It had been too long far too long since anyone had so openly touched him.
And so Zhongli kneels there awestruck for many moments, arms reaching out to nothing -- before he returns that hug with equal desperation. Arms wrap around the Harbinger's frame, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt as if too ensure that he truly wasn't made of ink and blackness underneath but was Childe. This really was Childe, wasn't it?
The emotions that wash over him - emotions that are clearly not his - sting as the Discord's had not a few minutes prior. That uncertainy and that confusion of why Zhongli acted as he did. The feeling of doubt that plagued the other so yawning and deep, it threatens to pull the both of them under. But like with the Discord, Zhongli does not fight or refute these emotions either. He only accepts them. Who is he to challenge what Childe feels? Who is he to try and heal wounds with trivial words when it was careless words that had hurt Childe before? No, these types of wounds only healed with time and actions. Of relaying a foundation brick by single brink until the cracked ones had been replaced. ]
The Discord has been sealed for the moment. I do not think it will be able to cause further harm to you this night.
[ And as for the other emotions. The relief at Zhongli's safety - perhaps it is arrogance on Zhongli's part that he is not surprised by this. Childe had taken him in that first night without question, provided a roof over his head when he was nothing more than a lost old man with no home, no country and no purpose. Childe had also forged him weapons on the Scorching Isles to protect Zhongli even at the expense of his own strength to protect himself.
Zhongli had no reason to believe that Childe did not value his safety and his comfort. But ah, perhaps Zhongli was foolish to not look deeper into why that might be. Tonight had given him many new things to think about. Some that he should have addressed long ago. ]
Be at ease. We are both safe now and due in no small part to your unwavering convictions.
[ A hand presses to the center of Childe's back between his shoulder blades, holds him closer for just one moment. ]
[ Childe's form trembles still even as Zhongli speaks, still clinging and needing to be closer. He attempts to speak but finds no words— his mind is clearly too exhausted for words as well as frayed and fried. Zhongli will notice that the mindscape is breaking apart as the world starts to drip like water washing away paint and chalk. It's been damage quite badly, afterall, but thanks to Zhongli it should be only temporary. It's now that the harbinger looks up, he bringing his mouth to press briefly against Zhongli's. It's hard to call it a kiss as weak as it is but it's something Zhongli can add to his pondering things on deciphering certain mysteries. the Geo Archon will suddenly feel the formation of words against his lips to be able to understand what is otherwise nothing more than an unintelligible whisper:
"Wait for me, then, Xiansheng."
As soon as the final words escape, Zhongli find himself being pushed, and the last thing he'll see is the smallest of, but for once genuine, smile from Childe ghost his boyish features—
—And Zhongli will suddenly. be back in Childe's room in their house. The discord has dispersed its visual presence (Although the air in the room still feels ominous, as if someone is waiting and hoping for a chance to slip back in through the cracks,) and the younger man is back to his fully human self and free of the tarry and sinewy prison collapsed against Zhongli. The Archon may not recall doing so but it seems he's managed to catch the other from ending up in a heap on the floor for the moment.
While things look mostly back to normal, if Zhongli turns towards the door he'll be met with the dual reminder that things did occur in here as the door is still splintered open and there is dried blood against the wall and the floor where Zhongli had found Childe's shardless body. Splotches of blackened blood on the floor signifying where limbs had been lying are also present. Those areas look like a crime scene that still somehow can't even begin to tell the nightmare they represent, but the rest of the room has been spared and may be a comforting sight of normalcy. ]
[ Zhongli swears he watches the walls bleed black (or perhaps, cry, maybe the room is crying) before the space shifts, and he is back in Childe's room in Childe's home in Highstorm in Kenos. Back to a normalcy that was not normal for either of them and back to their current friendship(?) which still lacked any rules or expectations or most importantly resolution. Was this world any less chaotic than the other one?
If his arms were not full of Childe at the moment, he would reach up to touch his lips for a physical reminder of what passed between them.
No, it would appear not. ]
I will always wait for you.
[ Zhongli pulls Childe even closer as he looks at the room, no longer teeming with Abyssal energy but stained in a way that it would take many hours and mental discipline to not conflate the two spaces with one another. Neither of which Zhongli (or he imagines Childe) have at the moment.
So he hefts the unconscious body up and into his arms and shifts the weight until the Harbinger looks as comfortable as possible. For another moment, Zhongli looks down at Childe's sleeping face, his own brows pinching in concern and confusion. It was over, yes. It had ended, for the moment. But the whole ordeal left such a sour taste in Zhongli's mouth. Of the choices he had to make so quickly.
Without much thought, he returns a brief press of lips to Childe's forehead (fair exchange - yes, that was it) and carries him back downstairs to the comfort of the longue, couch, and his furry companion. ]
[ Childe wakes with a start, only coming to realize his surroundings are not the same as he last recalls.
Blinking, he'll go to look around, quickly searching for the only other person that would be in the house (and he hopes he is rather than having gone out.) Unexpectedly, he's greeted by the little winged cat chirping and climbing up his back to sit on his shoulder and nuzzle his face, which, admittedly, does relieve some of the pent up anxiety he's still feeling from what happened. With a small chuckle and smile he'll reach to gently scratch the kitty's chin even as he returns to locating Zhongli. If the other is nowhere to be seen, Childe will still (or especially) call out for him and start to try and get to his feet. ]
[ Zhongli is seated on the adjacent chair, hands in his lap and head bowed forward slightly as he jerks himself back awake. Before Childe can even start to rise to his feet, a hand is placed upon his forearm to gently hold him in place. Considering all that had happened tonight (whether it had been real or all within their minds), more than anything Childe needed rest. And Zhongli would make sure that he got it. ]
Childe. You're awake.
[ When Zhongli looks into Childe's eyes and sees that clear (but lightless blue), he breathes a sigh of relief, tension easing from his shoulders. Yes, Childe was awake. And most importantly Childe was still Childe. ]
[ seeing Zhongli in the real world again does something to Childe; and before he can explain himself or respond in any more of an appropriate manner he's going to try and go crawl onto the chair with Zhongli and into his lap to hug onto him tightly.
If he's successful, he's just going to bury his face against the other's shoulder as he clings to him like a lifeline. He can pretend in the morning he didn't do all this awkward stuff, but right now, he can't stand the idea of suffering the feeling under his skin while not touching Zhongli. (It may be he simply craves the touch of any complimentary aspect that can continue to ease the discord, but Childe chalks it up as it needs to be Zhongli specifically.)
He doesn't care what Zhongli makes of it. Childe doesn't know what to make of it himself, really, but he knows he feels undeniably less frayed at the nerves and unsafe when like this.
The cat has come to now start nuzzling both Childe and Zhongli in alternation as best it can, as if comforting the both of them. ]
[ There's a brief moment of surprise where Zhongli's hands hang uselessly in the air as Childe clings to him. In general, Zhongli has never been known to be a physically affectionate person as he was aloof as the element he was so closely tied to. But after everything the two of them had been through this night, it is easy (almost unconscious) for Zhongli to hold Childe in return, temple pressed to temple and settling in the chair in such a way that makes it more comfortable for the both of them.
He does not know what to say so he does not say anything. He does not know what to do so he does not do anything but mirror Childe's need for physical affection.
For how long they stay like this, who can say? Time had been wildly distorted all evening so Zhongli will take whatever peace that can be found in the aftermath.
As time wears on and the weariness begins to seep into his bones, the beginnings of a Communion form between the two unintentionally. It is one not meant for words or even the sharing of thoughts or memories. Just--- feelings, as odd as they were to convey. The relief that Childe was safe. The echoes of fear of something terrible happening to him. And the warm and quiet comradery of two lost souls finding solace in the presence of each other ]
[ It feels like everything shifts as soon as Zhongli reciprocates, a leaking dam finally breaking. Any rigidness in his form remaining from tension slips out of him, and he presses up against the other man that much more in continued silence. The harbinger admittedly feels his eyes burn hot and start to leak, but no sound of upset escapes him. The Elventh has long forgotten how to cry when it comes to fear. How can he be afraid of anything when he's the monster himself?
Oh, but tonight has well explained exactly how he can be so now, hasn't it?
He's afraid, but he can't express it. Afraid despite not giving in or cowering away from the discord. Being a part of the Abyss has steeled him for most things, but not for something quite like the discord, where it seems terrifying forces can come out from nothing inside of him. There's nothing he can do about it, either. He's long prepared himself for the inevitable day where he assumes he'll eventually succumb to the Abyss and turn fully into nothing more than a mindless monster if his life doesn't burn out or get prematurely smothered first. He hasn't prepared himself for experiencing that type of thing, however, if it involves himself remaining conscious throughout it. It's the most powerless he's ever felt, and the memory of—
—being in the room alone ( before Zhongli first arrived ) as that viscous liquified corruption started pouring out of him; how he watched every alien appendage sprout from his flesh only for him to sever it from his body as quickly as he could without flinching or hesitating despite the agony. The feeling of any remaining color in his face draining when it becomes obvious the "blood" of those tentacles creates something anew. A monstrous form that he quickly realizes is still him, somehow.
And he endures the gut wrenching terror and pain of having such an abomination overwhelm him before he can even fight back, it suddenly piercing through him only to explode out his back as if his skeleton, muscle, and skin was nothing more than twigs and thinned paper as it ripped his shard from his body in the process. It hurt feeling his organs tear and his spine shatter like glass, but even that brutal pain— something even he had never experienced before—was still a sensation he could handle better than the disoriented, disgusting, and unknown feelings rippling through him from his shard being handled and consumed by the discordant corruption.
Childe wants to cry like he did when he was a child. He longs to be able to cry, to run to his mother and father for safety and comfort. Crying made the fear or the pain tangible to Childe back then: afterall, it eased up as soon as he no longer felt a need to cry, whether through emotional comfort or physical care from his loved ones.
But now...?
( ha, now he welcomes the pain, and brushes aside the fear as nothing more than a suggestion of how to feel about something rather than the requirement. )
Now?
( now, tonight, none of that has gone as it should of normally have like all the other times before it— )
—And so he clings to the person who's here letting him do so without an explanation, his body dead weight against the other man as Childe's dark blue eyes bleed salt water like blood. It's such a hollow and empty feeling, and there's nothing the youngest of her Majesty's elite is aware he can hope to do about it beyond endure and suffer on through it.
Eventually, the tear ducts run dry; and slowly but surely, Childe finds increasing peace in Zhongli's arms as the discord continues to unravel and dissipate. ( Childe wants more, though. He wants the high of flushing Discord out far more rapidly through sex. Except he can't bring himself to even mention it to the Archon. He can't ask— he's to afraid of being told no, but he's even more afraid of being told yes— or is the other way around, he doesn't know...! )
Ultimately, he stays silent without a hint of expressing such a desire, and part of that he's sure is aided by how damn exhausted he is. Zhongli must be, too. Even if not physically warped by the discord like Childe, he knows the other has harmonized and that using his abilities excessively will eventually exhaust him, as well. He's also sure Zhongli is exhausted mentally ( yet it never once crosses his mind that that exhaustion may be due from stress over Childe and his well-being in any form. )
Which is why when that communion link establishes and those feelings trickle out like they're seeking osmosis, his attention is caught by them. Oh... that surely must be Zhongli's feelings naturally for anyone left from Teyvat.
( Still, it's admittedly a little bit extra pleasant to feel them, anyway, almost like warm sunlight in one's face after a sky-blackening storm. )
There's comfort felt simply in that casted solace they find together, that no words have to be exchanged or explanations given or excuses made. Childe's feelings eventually trickle to mingle and to be shared, as well. An apology. A promise and reassurance. Even as they both intrinsically understand already that it's a promise that will inevitably be shattered into the wind.
Still... Childe promises it to Zhongli, anyway. ( Because the Eleventh never breaks his promises, and it's the only thing he can think of that will give him the ability to fight such a hopeless battle rgba next time he's cornered. )
Childe is crying. Even if there is no sound, even if there is no visible signs of it save for the damp spots that cling to Zhongli's skin and clothing--- Childe is crying. Ah, how easy it is for Zhongli to forget just how young this mortal is. Wise and experienced beyond his years, but still just beginning to find his way though life. Grinning and bearing through the pain and horrors no one should ever have to see. Childe... It takes more effort than Zhongli would like to admit to keep his hands still at that realization. More than anything, his mind (his own discord?) urges him to reach out and to wipe those tears away, to soothe the other's thoughts, to make sure that the liquid that came off on his fingers did not stain like black ink.
He wants to comfort Childe.
But how - Zhongli does not know. It had never been a strong suit of his. Not when he had reached out a hand to the battle weary face of the newly anointed adeptus, karma roiling off of him in angry dark waves as a result his forced servitude to a cruel master. Not when he had awkwardly patted a half adepti on the head as she munched on a whole bouquet of sweet flowers, a scandalized squawk of feathers swiftly descending on them both to pry some of the stalks away. And not when he sat quietly next to a dear old friend, holding out to her a worn bell in his hands that they both would never ring again as tears streamed down her face.
Words seem unnecessary in this situation. And Childe's pride as a warrior has him hesitating, to make sure he is walking that fine line of providing comfort but not having the Harbinger perceive it as a weakness.
And so one hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, as the collar of Zhongli's shirt darkens with tears. Fingers thread through fiery locks as he strokes gently and what he hopes is soothingly at his scalp. He turns towards Childe, hesitating, before placing a kiss against his temple and then drawing him in closer. Touch should soothe the discord, both his and Childe's. So that is what he should be focusing on. He shifts again, pulling his own gloves off with his teeth before placing them back upon Childe - again at the nape of his neck and one wrapped around his waist.
"You do not have to promise me anything. Nothing except that you will survive for as long as you can. That is the only promise I ask of you."
Zhongli does not speak these words. Not aloud. Just sends these feelings back over the bond as he feels Childe restless to do something - to make a vow, offer an apology, reassure Zhongli. It does not matter. Zhongli needs none of those things.
He only needs this one person - this friend and this confidant, one who knew him better than most even if all of Liyue harbor was hale and whole. He just needs Childe to be here so that he will not succumb to his own loneliness.
(Perhaps that was a cruelty when Childe had already lost so much. When Childe had endured so much. Would it be kinder if he was with his family now instead of stuck here fighting yet another battle against fate? It would. It certainly would. But still--- Zhongli did not want to let go.)
The feelings of uncertainty drip off of him in response, even as he sinks further into the attempted comfort Zhongli provides. In his right mind he should be stunned that Zhongli is offering any of this and going further still, but perhaps that just reaffirms —if the tears have not, already— that he is in an incredibly unstable and vulnerable state of mind. Despite everything, the discord has indeed taken its toll and left things fragile. It's not permanent, no, Childe is too resilient to let it stay this way going forward and Zhongli has made that all possible, but in the immediate interim the discord has provoked fears that have been long ignored as he hardened his mind against such a concept. Death wasn't scary. Killing others wasn't scary. Fighting monsters wasn't scary. Becoming a monster somewhere down the line wasn't scary— afterall, wasn't he more than enough a monster in what he'd done and what he would continue to do? The physical aspect was merely a finishing touch.
Yet the discord has temporarily stripped him of all of that intrinsically-crafted armor, the years of commitment to hardening his heart against his own misfortunes.
"I'm not allowed to want to stay with you." he wants to, though. The boy wants and wants, pressing closer against the only anchor there.
I'm not allowed... but I want to, anyway... so I will." ]
[ "You can stay. You can stay here for as long as you like. I would never turn you away."
Where the earth meets the sea, the earth is patient and welcoming as it waits for the tide to come in. The earth wishes to hear the tales of far away lands that it will never reach, of sceneries that lie beyond it borders. And as the water recedes, it takes a part of the land with it so that it remembers the warmth of land.
This is what Zhongli offers to Childe over communion, hushed soothing tendrils of geo elemental energy to chase away the lingering nightmares. It's in the touch of his hands against Childe's still clammy skin, the gentle touch of their cheek to cheek, and the way that Zhongli holds Childe so that he remains his solid ground and safety net. Nothing can reach him here.
This time, though, he whispers the words softly - barely audible even in the quiet stillness of their living. ]
I do not know why you believe you are not allowed this, but you invited me in. You gave me a place to stay.
Will you not allow me the opportunity to do the same?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: body horror
Behind the beginnings of a grimace, Zhongli is about to say something else - what to say he does not know as words that usually fall from him so easily get lodged somewhere in his throat. What words could possibly sway Childe now when he didn't even know how much he was anchored in this reality rather than the nightmares that plagued him? What words could possibly offer comfort to one who was waiting for a dagger to bury between his shoulders at any moment? (And oh, if only Zhongli knew how much he was to blame for that.) It is in the midst of that halting doubt that Zhongli feels the first tendril reach out to him. It burns not his skin but in a stinging stripe across his own shard implanted near the empty cavity of his chest. Burns and throbs in time with the red expanding thread by thread - a hand being built one sinew at a time - and he knows what this feels like even if he and Childe have never touched in such an intimate way before.
Zhongli takes that as the response. Zhongli takes it as an invitation. He is being allowed to stay.
Gloved leather fingers curl around Childe's hand, making sure he doesn't lose his grip as Zhongli rises to his feet, teeth catching at the fingertips of his other glove as he pulls it off and drops it amongst the decaying around him. In truth, he'd only heard about Foul Legacy from the Traveler's stories - never once experiencing it for himself. But he knows that dark sheen of armor, knows that color of blood more black than red that forms the majority of the sinews of what now he knows must be Childe. That is something born of the Abyss - the furthest from Zhongli's own divine nature (which he for once is glad to be absent because he does not know if he would be able to stay in this miasma with it). His steps are slow, careful, measured - but this time not due to his old habits but hopefully as a sign of peace and no ill intent toward the Harbinger. Not that the other can really move, strung up like a marionette like he is in this position.
The mask seems to dwarf the rest of Childe's frame, thin and stretched as it is like so much brackish taffy. Zhongli looks up at him, hand raised palm and fingers up in a gesture of peace, pace not faltering even one beat from his steady approach. Childe had offered Zhongli an invitation; it was time for him to do the same. He presses the exposed flesh of the back of his hand against the jaw of the mask, knuckles catching on the sharp edge as he drags it to right above the chin. ]
Childe.
You can come home now.
Re: cw: body horror
Zhongli's words fall in deaf ears it seems. Or he can't understand them. Perhaps he can't even hear them?
Just when it seems there will be nothing else, the fragmented voice that sounds nothing like Childe tries speak. ]
Where. Ho...me...
[ If Zhongli remains touching the mask, though, a vision will pass over his eyes as it speaks.
A younger Childe is seen, dressed in the white formal robes of Snezhnaya as hee Majesty's elite. He has his back to another Harbinger— that of Pierro— and although Childe in the memory seems to stare at Zhongli, it's clear that pietro has said something that prompts as lackluster a resonate as his eyes show off.
"... I'm not that disallusioned: This place will never be a home."
the memory shatters and Childe's form jerks against what holds him in place suddenly. The black liquid starts to react as the threads begin to flail Rosslyn as if stimulated by excitement or panic. Zhongli will not feel anything emotionally coming from the shardbearer, though— but that liquid will curl and eject outward to string Childe's other arm up and back into confinement while another piece of twists itself to rise near Zhongli. For the briefest moment if Zhongli looks he might see what appears to be multiple eyes opening, looking and staring at the unharmonized bearer as if assessing—
— before it will explode outward and coil are Zhongli's and abdomen to hurdle him back across the room back over near the broken door effortlessly. Whatever it is doesn't seem to think Zhongli is in any way a threat but it also has no use for him staying with Childe, either. It's hard to tell if it's an extension of Childe's shardbeast formation or something separate from it that's still manifested from Childe's self-perception. Either way,
Zhongli is not welcome. ]
cw: eldritch horror
So then where - where could home possibly be? Is it the two shards that Childe keeps close and protected - the two material items more precious to him than life itself? Is it kept with the Meridians who think that one day that they can all go back home to their worlds as if this tragedy had never occurred? A path that neither of them had chosen to take even if it's the one that would soothe their pain the most.
Where is home? ]
I do not---
[ The vision hits him suddenly and unexpectedly, and before Zhongli can even parse that he is staring at the halls of Zapolyarny Palace, the black sinew is moving again. Zhongli reaches up to grasp at it, to free Childe's arm again - tar-like wet substance clinging to the bare skin of his palm. Useless. Useless. Why is he so---? Dozens of eyes open to up and stare at him - watching, judging, waiting. They silently ask questions that Zhongli has no answers to and offer nothing but cold indisputable dismissal.
Zhongli is not welcome here.
Wood splinters across his back as Zhongli's body skids to a halt outside the doorway. For a moment that lasts an eternity, pain laces up his frame as thuds against the hardwood floor. The tendrils recede back into the depths of the bedroom, Childe's strung up taut frame completely out of sight. There's nothing visible of this terrifying entity except the still corpses of the amputated limbs and the steady drip drip drip of black ichor from the walls and ceiling.
It takes many moments to get to his feet, many more to heave and shove the decorative table in the hallway up against what remained of Childe's bedroom door. The disbelief that it takes so much effort to do such a simple task has tipped over the threshold to now be a handicap. If he could not help Childe here and now, how could he be of use to any of the children of Teyvat? How could he hope to help any of them in this weak mortal form?
What was once a choice now seems more of an inevitability - just as he taken up arms to protect the people of Liyue. He had to protect his people, and that was no different now. No different except he knew the price to be paid if he did not approach the powers that be with the correct amount of forethought and negotiation. A mistake he would not make again. ]
I will return.
[ A whispered contract to himself (one that holds no weight in this mortal form) as Zhongli pushes off to head out of the house and directly to Yima's manor. ]
cw: eldritch horror
Instead of grace and peace as it swims in the ocean, it's agitated and frightened by the inky black that coats it and seems intent to not let go. The eyes stare and stare, some only bubbling to the surface when Childe had severed and sent scatterings of the black substance. Breathing heavily, he glares down at one of the several eyes floating in the salt water, his mindscape overflooded to the point there's no ground to walk on. The Fatui Harbinger himself is on top of the narwhal despite its behavior because it's the only way to really try and gain an advantage over the intruding corrosion. Is this discord? Or is this just the Abyss fueled by discord and Zenith?
It isn't much he thinks about right now, though. The only thought that passes through beyond eradicating this uninvited presence is the confusion he feels thinking he heard someone just now. No, not just someone, but could it really—
Without opening his mouth, an unfamiliar and alien voice replies to his curiosity.
if only there was one alive out there that still loved you; there is no such individual. no one is coming.
Glowering, Childe's expression now sports a significant frown, eyes lowering halfmast in silent disdain as he meets every one of those eyes that stares at him from the water surface before he speaks his reply. ]
And if only I actually needed someone's help to purge the likes of you that might actually bother me. Too bad for you. [the hydro element turns Childe's weapons from daggers to his bow as he takes aim to fire into the sky and let a storm of hydro arrows rain down like a torrent wishing to scrub the infection clean. ] Get out. Get out! I don't need anyone or anything else but myself— and that means double for whatever the hell you are!
[ In Childe's mind, he's locked away in endless battle while his corrupted physical form is disconnected from it entirely. Inside, Childe can't acknowledge what's happening to him outside, he can't feel alone or any such negativity when he's at least doing what he loves. It doesn't really matter to him if he's fighting to keep himself from being consumed or fighting monsters to clear an area— it's all the same in his perspective.
Which is good, perhaps, because as time passes the black ooze cannot seem to do anything to him further physically beyond try and cocoon him in itself. It isn't able to mutate him further, it isn't able to amplify his discord (and there's no expression eyes like these can truly give, but there is a sense of out knowing something is not working but it doesn't quite instanced how to solve it in how the ooze works itself in dealing with Tartaglia. Certainly, isolating the shard-bearer has been its goal, but for some strange reason the emotional powerline it was able to feed off of has ruptured. It fights in that mindscape for control, but it can't overpower him like it had before. Somehow, instead of continuing to sink, Tartaglia has unexpectedly decided that was as far as he would go and that was that. Despite all the pain and disgust and misery that had allowed the discord to cause such a transformation to begin, somehow it has simply been halted.
Is it the other shardbearer that had stepped in here that is to blame? It doesn't know. All it does it continue in the same manner ever harder in hopes the effect will suffer and progress once more.
Whenever Zhongli returns, should he make good on his personal promise to himself, he'll find the room has been overtaken further. There is no floor , no walls, no furniture, no tentacle corpses, just a knee deep pool pool of black. Childe's form is barely there, as well, completely consumed by the substance save for the mask at the head of the immature shardbeast. Zhongli will feel nothing like the pain and disgust he felt the first time, and the Fatui Harbinger no longer seems able to communicate in any fashion.
When Zhongli returns, it's also when that ooze in its neverending work goes still before eyes upon eyes open in the blackness and all focus on the intruder. The intruder it threw out earlier.
But, the intruder also is... not quite the same. It seems to sense the Harmonization and the strength of the complimenting aspect. Perhaps it didn't recognize it before when the other was unharmonized. It's not the case now.
Zhongli is the offender that has damaged its progress. It will immediately attempt to force him from the room and barricade him out with a wave wall of black tar and eyes. ]
cw: eldritch horror
When the wave of black tar come for Zhongli, he merely raises his hand and from the muck comes a stone stele, breaking the wave in two like a divine figure parting a sea. With no walls in this space, the ichor splashes back to the pool below save for the small portion of it that clings and drips off the hem of Zhongli's clothes. It burns - this corruption's disdain for him, the burning command to leave and flee and to never return.
But that too is wiped away with an amber tipped hand as Zhongli sheds more and more of his mortal guise - eyes that narrow sharply like a dragon's, limbs of onyx that taper to amber geometric shapes that glow with an unmistakable elemental energy, flecks of scales across his jaw.
Morax approaches Childe as only Tartaglia knows him to be in this world of lost souls. Perhaps the loneliest part of his existence - to be a god without his peers and without his people and without his home. It's a much heavier weight than that of a old-fashioned awkward funeral parlor consultant. Carefully, he reaches out a hand to touch the mask again, this time the back of his fingers brushing against Childe's temple.
The tips of Morax's hair burn amber for just a moment. ]
Tartaglia.
This is not the end of your journey.
cw: eldritch horror
There's still a little something , though. Perhaps it's enough.
The narwhal is still present but it has long quieted. Instead of being swallowed by the thick muck into an agonizing death its styles is more as if it's in suspended animation. Its kept safe in a large sphere of water— along with the sleeping forms of three very specific children as the corruption drips all over the shield as it searches and searches for a way in. As for the owner of this mindscape...
He hasn't given in yet. The harbinger still struggles and refuses to give up; but the stress on his face, the exhaustion that ripples throughout the mindscape suggests he's close to his limit even as he refuses to acknowledge it. It's not that he's stubbornly unwilling to accept he only has so much power here, but he can't retreat this time— there's nowhere to go inside his own realm. The whale and the children seem too important to him to let the corruption near, too, even if the thickened sludge continues dragging him down into its clutches in an attempt to drown him. Childe has put up a valiant fight, but he's ultimately losing, now sunk up to his shoulders in the oily tar. The corruption is insistent, and it crashes over the young man's face like waves of water to drown him into complacency— heavy and thick and fully suffocating. He coughs violently, shaking his head and snorting to try and clear the substance from him before he attempts to raise one arm out of the black mud to defend himself. It doesn't budge. He's nauseous and dizzy and flailing like a wild animal in a cage but that movement doesn't reflect in his confinement as no frenzied strength seems to help him.
When Zhongli fully enters the mindscape, though, Childe will sense him, and he'll jerk his attention towards him immediately, blue eyes wide despite the corruption now oozing and leaking like black tears from behind them. He stares in Zhongli's direction, stunned or mortified or both. For whatever reason Zhongli's presence seems to give him something of a renewed mental strength, and it's enough that he can actually pull his arms out of the blackness and reach out towards Zhongli. ]
—No, No! Xiansheng, don't come here!
[ hissing, Childe will grit his teeth as he attempts to focus even as he still tries to crawl out of the corruption, and a water sphere will encircle the archon as well, like it does the narwhal and his siblings. It's just in time for the massive black tentacle that comes up from behind the consultant to try and grab him with a heavy slamming of it's weight to knock him and pin him down. Even without Zhongli moving or reacting on his own, the tentacle will splatter harmlessly and lose its form against the hydro sphere despite the thunderous force.
Unfortunately, if Zhongli has glanced away even for a moment he might miss another tentacle that very much does not splatter or get fended off knock hard into Childe enough to make his head swim before it curls up around the owner of this mindscape and violently drags him completely underneath the surface of the black surface.
Immediately following, the corruption seems to calm itself into deathly stillness, just like it has already forced the rest of this place to become. ]
cw: eldritch horror
That is the only thought spinning through Zhongli's mind as he tries to take in the scenery around him. Childe, fanatical protector of promises, seemed to be desperately clinging to just that as Zhongli looks up at the wonderous whale (the Harbinger's constellation, his vision) and its wards (three here but Zhongli only remembers Childe hauntingly starting at two shards kept protected above all in his abode). If that is what needs protecting, if that is what Childe needs---
A hand raises up to summon a second shield around the water barrier, ensuring that nothing less than another god or demon itself could dare touch what lay inside. But Childe calls out to him. Childe protects him as for the first time is so long, so very very long, the elemental sparkle of a shield that is not his own glimmers around Zhongli.
For a moment Zhongli is paralyzed at the action, struck speechless. And that is all the time that is needed to pull Childe under completely.
No. No no no. He will not allow this. He made a contract (a promise) with himself, one that did not bind him with divinity like the hundreds thousands he had made before. But one that he would give his life, his future, and his everything to uphold.
(For ancient tired Morax did not want to be the sole survivor. He did not want to be the one who survived and was left behind.) ]
Foul corruption. Destroyer of worlds. You shall not steal another child of Teyvat from me.
Not while the earth remembers.
[ It starts as a single mote of gold across a dark expanse of nothingness. Then two. Then three. Like starconches along the ocean shore, they are swept up and carried away by the endless black, pulled underneath the inky waves. One by one they appear, and one by one, they vanish. There is probably no traditional "earth" in this space, twisted dimension of corruption that it was. But there were still lines of power, leylines of energy, the elements all around them and that-- that could be manipulated.
While the eyes cannot perceive it, the gold begins to coalesce under the surface of the sludge - first a thin wispy string of gold, then more like a wire, a twig. Out and out it grows sprouting into five distinct branches from the base until the gold fleshes out into an angular bony hand, sharp and steadfast like the element from whence it is formed. Fingers stretch and reach out in the unending viscous sea of black as another hand forms next to it. Up and up they reach, digits curled until they cage the dark lightless blue that is Childe (it must be Childe, Zhongli does not know what he'll do if it isn't), surrounding it, shielding it.
And ultimately trying to force its precious cargo back up to the surface. ]
cw: eldritch horror, brief vomitting
The other's efforts are not in vain: when the hands resurface with what they have caught it's what Zhongli hoped for— although Childe's body is limp, liquid tar still covering him in harrowing streaks like soaking rain. The corruption now wails an ear piercing and ugly cry, attempting to latch onto the large hands futilely and weigh them back down to return what they stole. It's no use, though, and that alone only agitates the corruption even more. It "turns" on Zhongli, amassing into a large eye-filled blob before a "Foul Legacy" shadow made entirely of the corruption steps out to confront the intruder.
Zhongli will feel an odd buzzing, a frantic gibberish that he'll make out if he listens— but the direct source is not immediately clear. Nevertheless, it being some personification of the corruption is the only sensible answer. ]
M̵͉̭̘̙̹̫͔̉̏̉͑̊̋͐ǫ̶̯͎̤̣͉͈͒͋͛̈̍̅͠ɿ̸̅̀̑͛͌̕Ą̸̛̮͔͕̩̥͆̒͌͗͐̕ͅẌ̴͇̳͙̭̬͇͇́̔̏͑́̀̚.̶̛͙̙͉̬̩̦̞̔͆͐͐̒̚.̶̨͓̻̪̦͈̱̂̀̈́͗̓̏̇.̴̧̛̛̻̘͓̳͇͖͗͌̏̆̅ ̴̧͚̫̻͇̻̻̈́͆̎̄̒͌͘w̶̦̞͓͙͈̫͔̍͒̅͆̆̾̆ʜ̵̹̙̟͍͇̹̹̐̆̔̆̍̈́͐γ̶̨͎̘̰̟͇̃͊̏͐̕͝͝ͅ ̵̨̨̞͚̯̤͕͛̀͊̌̈͌̽b̸̺̲̪̱͓̝̝͒́̔̽͌̎͘ǫ̷̼̪̝̜̼̱͂̀̌́̈͆͝ ̷̧͍̩̯͙͎̩̉̄̒̎̎̈́̎γ̵̡̻̼̩̼͙̙͗̀̏̓̓̕͝ơ̶̢̜͎͎̣̠̗͛̍͊̈́́́ὔ̶̠̲̤̝̲̥̠̀̽̆̏̑ ̶̡̛̮̠̘͍̟͕̏̂͌̉̃̌ɔ̵̧̳͍̦̱̱̇̑̆͂͂̑͝ͅǫ̴̢̦͙̹͎̖̈̒̆͛̃͊̚m̶̙͚͈̲͓͚̲͒̿͆͊̈́̂͘ɘ̶̢̛̣͎͓̹̜̳̾͗͛͌̚͘ ̴͕͉̠̯̙̪̪̃̆̌́̑̊́Ɉ̶̢̳̣͕̲̼̟̌̀͑̀̆͂͝o̸̬͈͙͍̩̞͍͊̄̇́̂̍͠ ̷̩̟̜͔̦̥͂̍͊͐̇͘͠ͅɈ̵̨̘̮̘̼̀̀̎͂̐̈́͒ͅͅɒ̶̨̛̠̰̥̫̣̀̍̂̒͗̚ͅʞ̶̝͚̩̮̜̣̞̀̀̇͌̂̈́̔ɘ̴̨̖̲̲̰͖̃̊͐̚̕͜͝͝ ̸̢̢̛̪̰͇̏̽͗̽̃̚͜͜w̸̛͉͕̫̮̟͉̄̽͂̍̽͘ͅʜ̶͈̣̤̜̳̹̟͌̓͐̾͑̀͑ɒ̵͉̲̘̝̘͕̟͂͗͑̌̑̿͒Ɉ̸̠̳͙̮̩̰̞̍̑̒̈́̀̋̀ ̸̧̧̦̙͚̻̰̑͛̽́̉͌͛í̶̧̛̳̞̹̩͍̯́̂͐̚͝ƨ̵̛̭̪̭͚̞̬̎̓͐́̀̑ͅ ̴͇̹̫̬̰͕͍̿̽̎̋̍͘͘n̶̡̤̭̝͇̳͚̈́͋́͑̏̿͝ó̵͕̝̠̟̪̘͎̓̈͂͂̎̂Ɉ̴̦̖̬̺͈̰̉̄́̀̊͛͘ͅ ̶̨̗̞͔͓̬̺̈́̀̀̓̊̾͒γ̷̧̡͍̼̹͎͉̔͒͒̽̃̈́͑o̵̗̼̙̣̗̪͑̏͊̅̑̄̚͜ὑ̸̧͕̦̜̙̭͎̂̋̉̀͑͝ɿ̵̛̟͙̲͔̦̭̹͂̃͛͒͐̃ƨ̴̧̬̜͇̣͈̓̑̓̋̈̀͘ͅ&̴̨͕̺͇͍͍͇͛̓̀̍̿̌̈́m̷̯̣͈̯̲̐̑́̾͗͒͠ͅͅb̷̢̰͎̩̘̦̼́͊̒͒͑̀̚ɒ̴̻̦̭̮͓̤̟̈̾̍̐̔͑͝ƨ̵̫̲͕̦͔͓͓̒̍̈́̊̽̈́̈ʜ̸̻̱͚̪̣̞͖̆̾̋̇̚̕͠;̵̜̙̣͈̠̥̌̌͆̓̚̚͘ͅm̷̡̛̫͖̳̮̬̙͊̃́̀̉͘Ő̶̫͓̥̱̹͚͉̊̉͛̀͒̚Я̵̨̛̘̞̭̺͔̼̎̍́͌͘͠A̴̛̖̥̘͚̪̹̫͊̃̐̊̊͝X̷̬̫̯̭͓͓̑̓̇͂̑̽́͜,̶͕̞͖̗̪̺̹̌̓̅͊̏̽̚ ̸̦͎͉̹͇̪̈́͐̎̍̆͘̚͜γ̶̗͙̲̠̖͍͎̎͛̽̒̏̅͘ǫ̶̩̳̭̈́͋̈́̎̓͆͒ͅͅͅυ̸̦̤̮͉̞̼̠̏̐̇̃̈́̈͘ ̴̡̢͇̫͓̙͎̓̎̾͒̉̂̀H̶̛͚̱͕̲̳̬̫̾̓̊͌̑̚A̷̺͚͎͈̺̖͇͌̎̽̓̔͗̕b̴̧̨̺̱̠͔̗̈́̑̂̽͛͘͠ ̶̧̬͇̤̭̮̩̆̍̅̈́̃̚͠γ̷̡̢̛͔̠̩͈͇͌̾͗͌͒͑o̸̡̯͇̦̠̪̱̿̏͐̾̓̀̚Ū̴͎̪͙̘̠͕͕̃͋̑̎͑̕ɿ̴̧̦͙͎͔̫̬̉͛̃̄̇̈́̀ ̵̧̗̹̙̥̖̦́͛̀̂̊̏͝ɔ̷̡̢̯̭͎͉̙̐̑͑̑͘͝͝ʜ̸̫͚̼̫̯̠̘͛̀́̍̕͝͝ɒ̵̘̝̤̲̟̲̍̓͑̋̽̀͂ͅṇ̷͓͚̱̺̰̠̌̈̾̉̅͑̋ɔ̶̛͓̩̝͙͈̗̦̽̽̅̂͌̆ɘ̴̨̞̲̰̬̭̹͒͗͑͛̓̉͘,̸̧̡̙͍̖̻̝̌͊͑̂̋̎̎ ̸̨̛̫̜̖͚̜̩̈͌̆́̾͠γ̵̹͔̝̲̻͕̰̆̓́̄̿̈́̾o̶̱̖̝̰̰̘͌̈́̓̓́̊͜͠υ̵̺̠͖̣͕̰̠͛̔̑͐̚̕͝ ̴̳͚̼̰̗̟̩̆̀͐͛̃͋̚Ɉ̴̧̡̨͓͖̞̰̂̿̂͒̀̕͠ʜ̶̭̯͚͙̬͈̖͂̂̉̃́̍̄Я̵̧̢̛̱̜̞̰̗͛́́̂̎̚Ǝ̷̠̳̹̗̥̘͓̓̆̇̎͛͗͝W̷̳͓̘̱̬̲̗͗̔̊̆͂̇̆ ̵͓̰̗̥͈̯̦̇̒͆͌͋̄͝T̸̢̮̦̤͍͍̬̑͑͛̉͐͌͌H̷̡̫̥̫̯̘̄̓̍͆͐̀̕͜i̷̧̗͇̦͕͓̺͌͊̃̄̇́͠ƨ̵̧̥͚̣̗̟̦̿̾͋̉͐̈́̽ ̸̨̩͚̟̥͓̳͋͐́́̑̕͝A̸̰̟̮̗̜͚͖͊̾͛̂͂̈́͑W̷̤̟͕͙̤͈͈̄̈̉̌̇̆̿Ā̷̡̢̪̱̘͕̯̔̈́͛̊͋͝Ÿ̸̡̥͔̰̫͍̪́̿̋̈́̍̚͝ ̸̢̧̫̻͕͚͆̂͂͂̾͘͜͝w̶̲̯̺͈̞̣̫̔̉̎̊̋̾͝H̴̡̥̮͚̱͙̥̆͆̄̄̽̕̕Ý̴̨̬͚̪̼̗̤̈́͗͛̄͝͝ ̶̟̰̺̝̜͉̣͋̍̉̀͐̏͝Ɉ̸̛̪̩̹̦̩̩̦͐̆͂̊͂͝ɒ̴̨̱̥͚̲̻͍́̀̓͂̄̕͠ʞ̸̨͕̟̮͚͎̀̍̅̓̓̋͘͜Ǝ̸̨͕̱͔̱͖̙̏̎̋̄̅̕̚Į̵̨̲̘͈̣̒̈́́̃̒̑͘ͅT̷̘̺̱̘̝͉̝͗̊̅͘̚̕͝ ̶̧̣̫̬̺̦̠̄̽̍̽͊̚̚n̶̼̪͇̫͔̖̳̋́̍̔̍̈͛O̴̠̗̦͎͍̤̫̎̎̊͆͆͝͝W̴̖̪̮̲̪̙̝̍͆̂̏̿̆̚ ̶̨̢̳̗̬̗̩̈́̉͆̅̅͝ƨ̴̳̱͓̻͔̙̣̏͒̈̏̅̈͝ɘ̵̢͔͙̘͔̲̱̃̔̈́̈͆̔͑⅃̵̛͚̺̘̬̼̣̀̉̑͗̚͜͝ᆿ̷̭͇̳̞͙̻̥̏̽̌͊̿̾͘i̵̛̬͚̖̹̹̜̩̇̾̅͘͘͘ƨ̸̻͓̲̩̥͍̹̎̇̌͂̋̍͝H̴̛͔̳̯̙̘̜͑̀̅͐́́͜Ƨ̴͉̫̫͕̼̿͂̌͐̓̉̕ͅͅO̷̢̢͔̭̘̩̬̎̏̇̇͗̍̿Ƨ̸̦͔͕͕̙̻̰̉̿͆́̎̀̕Ǝ̸̠̖͓̻̩͓̙̒̽̊̒̄͠͝⅃̵̧͕̪͙̙͖͔̂̌̂̐́̓̔Ә̴̧̧͍̮͇̥̫́͋̓͗̃̽͗U̴̫̞̭̰͙̞̗͆̽̉̈́̈̈́͘Ⴇ̵̨̲͖̲̫̹̫̑̋̀̊̈́̚̚H̴͖͕̳̰͓̮̤͐͐̎̑̎͘͠Ǝ̵̨̞͓̻̟̤͎̏̃̈́͐̎̌͝ᆿ̴̱̺͎̹͖͍͂̑͑̈́̄͒̄͜Ƨ̸̨͍̠͕̮̹̦́̿͋̈́̒̽͐Ǝ̷̭͙̞͇͓͍̘͂͌̂̀̓̌͠⅃̸̖̗̟͎̩͉́̈́͊̊̊͊͝ͅᆿ̵̲̜͚͇̤͎͇̈́̈́̓͐̋̀̔I̶̜̰̪̞̬͚͇͂̒̐̇̎̄͝Ƨ̶̱̮̫̗̰̹̗̔̈͗̈́̔̕͝ʜ̵̫̞̞̮͚̫͉͆̄̆͆̅̔͘
[ a sharp pain will thrust itself into Zhongli's mind like a thrusted knife, pieces of memory friends glitching and crushing together while splintering apart, but he won't need the whole picture laid out to get it: Childe leaving the Northland Bank, the Traveler, Zhongli, and La Signora disappearing with the closing of the door only for that door to be one to a bedroom as the eleventh harbinger clutches his head and sinks to the floor with his back against it. The overwhelming flow of emotions are suffocating and they build and build with no end in sight—until Childe chokes and vomits from the stress, breaking the pressure. But like a child, that physical response makes him panic and become agitated all over, and the aching pain now radiates down to where Zhongli's heart is as Childe curls up on himself and buries his face against his knees as he hugs them close—and it's like an explosion of shrapnel splintering through everything it can.
the imagery shifts, Childe now at the entrance to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor about to enter before his hand falls away from the door and he backs away with an self-depreciating smirk as he stares at his hand.
Like being let up for air, Zhongli will be released from the emotional cage and its visions, and the garbled rants from earlier now have a distinct and clear voice to them. ]
gIVE It BAcK. I'll kEEP IT. YOu didn'T WANT it wHEn it wAS ALl youRS—SO WHY dO yoU COMe tAKe WHat you won't eVER wANT?
no subject
Childe... Childe, did he really believe those things...?
The stony fingers curl around Childe's unconscious body even more protectively after the memories fade. Ah. In Teyvat, forbidden knowledge was considered poisonous, a disease. And perhaps that was what this was as well - a gross violation of privacy to break open what Childe wished to keep hidden and expose it as some sort of grandiose spectacle. Despicable. Both for the Discord running rampant and for Zhongli being a willing spectator. How could he soothe this deep wounds of Childe without opening more in their wake? For surely if Childe knew what he saw here, then--- surely...
The decision, as it has always been and forever will be, is what got them here in the first place. Lies of omission. Does Zhongli really know how to do anything else?
Expression blank as a smooth slate of stone, Zhongli looks up at the raging Discord. ]
You presume much about my actions. As does he. But if that is how you see it, then so be it.
[ For a moment, the inky blackness takes on a different shape, one of a raging earth dragon hellbent on retribution. And then of a warm smile of a mortal man who at the moment was anything but mortal and bittersweet partings shared between them.
Yes, that's right. There was always hope. As long as one chose to believe in it.
The hands lift Childe further out of the muck and drop him reverently next to what Zhongli can only assume is his family on top of the manifestation of Monoceros Caeli. Duty finished, the hands burst into glittering geo crystal flies that swarm around and around the already erected hydro barrier, adding yet another layer of protection from all things that Childe should consider precious.
And then Zhongli himself rises, rises and rises floating upon the air until he is level with that one bulbous orb that decorates Foul Legacy's mask. Two could play at being unreasonable, and Zhongli would not could not allow any harm to come to CHilde. It was in his newest contract, after all.
It had nothing to do with the contract if the Archon dared to look even a fraction deeper inside himself.]If you want him back, you'll have to go through me to get him.
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if it has its way, it will awake the grill archon whole and never let him leave this despite sea of blackened hell, nevermind leave after freeing Childe. ]
no subject
And battles were something Morax did not lose.
As the creatures approaches, one by one the golden pillars rise, snaring the Discord within its net. One, two, three, four, five, six---
Zhongli lets out a startled sound, hand clutching the pulsing gold Shard lodged in his chest as the seventh pillar does not rise. Preposterous. Surely, he had enough energy to deal with one abyssal creature. This would have been a simple task for him back in Liyue. He had buried dozens of more powerful gods under the earth for millennia. Fought hundreds more foes simultaneously. So then why?
Amber eyes flicker past the creature to the lonely narwhal still floating among the corrupted black dredge. To the huddled and fallen figures within. The golden motes of geo twinkle back at him like tiny stars. Tiny stars that are taking his energy and sapping his strength.
Ah-- that had been foolish of him. He should have phrased his contract more carefully. When people had mentioned they had regained their powers, he assumed they had always been returned in full. But Yima - as powerful as she was - could not or would not restore the full might of a god. So in order for his plan to succeed, there would have to be a compromise.
Zhongli readies his spear, places his weight on his back foot so that he can lunge at the Abyssal abomination approaching. He has to keep it within the seal. It needs to not break the boundary before he can lay down the last remaining two steles. With a steadying intake of breath, Zhongli drops the shield around the narwhal (praying to no one because who did an archon beseech - do not see it, keep your hateful eyes upon me), and lunges toward the Discord, spear leading. ]
no subject
The discord is vicious in the battle, fighting tooth and nail, but it will not last all that long between Zhongli's powers and Childe's rejection of the discord itself. It will become less numerous piece by piece until it eventually mostly evaporates save for here and there scraps of it clinging to surfaces. Those, too, will be washed away into nothing soon enough.
For now. ]
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Immediate threat vanquished, Zhongli uses one of his stone stele as a launch point to vault to where the whale and its riders are waiting. Hovering carefully beside it, he kneels next to Childe's limp form and the children beside him. A hand reaches out, hesitates before settling over one of Childe's hands. A very forward move on his part, yes. But he knew that touch was much more potent in help dispelling the effects of Discord. ]
Childe.
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He'll have to lean his weight against Zhongli, but his hug is sincere and strangely warm despite the harbinger himself being soaked and shivering in a rare sight (but then again, this is all so rare as is.) With his face buried against the other, there are no words exchanged, but there is a powerful connection of feelings that speak just as well. an overwhelming uncertainty, an inability to understand why (why would Zhongli go through all this trouble) before that uncertainty is pushed away by the assumption that Zhongli is not here for any other reason than because Childe's one of the few pieces of Teyvat left. While that may have normally had him sour or otherwise disheartened, right now there is an overflow of gratitude: someone came for me.
It doesn't matter why they came just that they did. As much as he didn't need someone to come for him, as much as he doesn't need anyone else (he tells himself over and over,) it's very obvious even to him that he absolutely needed someone to help him this time. if Zhongli's helping him because he's part of a home that they've both lost... that's fine. It's a reason Childe can accept and see for what it is; and it's a reason he can trust rather than wondering what this individual must see in him as useful for something out another to still to be worth saving. For once, he doesn't care if he's worthless or he has no value to anyone; he knows his little siblings think the world of him, and he needs to be alive to take care of them.
So he's grateful.
—But there is another feeling—a feeling of immense relief that Zhongli— yes, it's definitely concerning Zhongli in particular— is safe. ]
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And so Zhongli kneels there awestruck for many moments, arms reaching out to nothing -- before he returns that hug with equal desperation. Arms wrap around the Harbinger's frame, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt as if too ensure that he truly wasn't made of ink and blackness underneath but was Childe. This really was Childe, wasn't it?
The emotions that wash over him - emotions that are clearly not his - sting as the Discord's had not a few minutes prior. That uncertainy and that confusion of why Zhongli acted as he did. The feeling of doubt that plagued the other so yawning and deep, it threatens to pull the both of them under. But like with the Discord, Zhongli does not fight or refute these emotions either. He only accepts them. Who is he to challenge what Childe feels? Who is he to try and heal wounds with trivial words when it was careless words that had hurt Childe before? No, these types of wounds only healed with time and actions. Of relaying a foundation brick by single brink until the cracked ones had been replaced. ]
The Discord has been sealed for the moment. I do not think it will be able to cause further harm to you this night.
[ And as for the other emotions. The relief at Zhongli's safety - perhaps it is arrogance on Zhongli's part that he is not surprised by this. Childe had taken him in that first night without question, provided a roof over his head when he was nothing more than a lost old man with no home, no country and no purpose. Childe had also forged him weapons on the Scorching Isles to protect Zhongli even at the expense of his own strength to protect himself.
Zhongli had no reason to believe that Childe did not value his safety and his comfort. But ah, perhaps Zhongli was foolish to not look deeper into why that might be. Tonight had given him many new things to think about. Some that he should have addressed long ago. ]
Be at ease. We are both safe now and due in no small part to your unwavering convictions.
[ A hand presses to the center of Childe's back between his shoulder blades, holds him closer for just one moment. ]
You may rest now.
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"Wait for me, then, Xiansheng."
As soon as the final words escape, Zhongli find himself being pushed, and the last thing he'll see is the smallest of, but for once genuine, smile from Childe ghost his boyish features—
—And Zhongli will suddenly. be back in Childe's room in their house. The discord has dispersed its visual presence (Although the air in the room still feels ominous, as if someone is waiting and hoping for a chance to slip back in through the cracks,) and the younger man is back to his fully human self and free of the tarry and sinewy prison collapsed against Zhongli. The Archon may not recall doing so but it seems he's managed to catch the other from ending up in a heap on the floor for the moment.
While things look mostly back to normal, if Zhongli turns towards the door he'll be met with the dual reminder that things did occur in here as the door is still splintered open and there is dried blood against the wall and the floor where Zhongli had found Childe's shardless body. Splotches of blackened blood on the floor signifying where limbs had been lying are also present. Those areas look like a crime scene that still somehow can't even begin to tell the nightmare they represent, but the rest of the room has been spared and may be a comforting sight of normalcy. ]
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If his arms were not full of Childe at the moment, he would reach up to touch his lips for a physical reminder of what passed between them.
No, it would appear not. ]
I will always wait for you.
[ Zhongli pulls Childe even closer as he looks at the room, no longer teeming with Abyssal energy but stained in a way that it would take many hours and mental discipline to not conflate the two spaces with one another. Neither of which Zhongli (or he imagines Childe) have at the moment.
So he hefts the unconscious body up and into his arms and shifts the weight until the Harbinger looks as comfortable as possible. For another moment, Zhongli looks down at Childe's sleeping face, his own brows pinching in concern and confusion. It was over, yes. It had ended, for the moment. But the whole ordeal left such a sour taste in Zhongli's mouth. Of the choices he had to make so quickly.
Without much thought, he returns a brief press of lips to Childe's forehead (fair exchange - yes, that was it) and carries him back downstairs to the comfort of the longue, couch, and his furry companion. ]
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[ Childe wakes with a start, only coming to realize his surroundings are not the same as he last recalls.
Blinking, he'll go to look around, quickly searching for the only other person that would be in the house (and he hopes he is rather than having gone out.) Unexpectedly, he's greeted by the little winged cat chirping and climbing up his back to sit on his shoulder and nuzzle his face, which, admittedly, does relieve some of the pent up anxiety he's still feeling from what happened. With a small chuckle and smile he'll reach to gently scratch the kitty's chin even as he returns to locating Zhongli. If the other is nowhere to be seen, Childe will still (or especially) call out for him and start to try and get to his feet. ]
Xiansheng...?
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Childe. You're awake.
[ When Zhongli looks into Childe's eyes and sees that clear (but lightless blue), he breathes a sigh of relief, tension easing from his shoulders. Yes, Childe was awake. And most importantly Childe was still Childe. ]
You had a very rough night.
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If he's successful, he's just going to bury his face against the other's shoulder as he clings to him like a lifeline. He can pretend in the morning he didn't do all this awkward stuff, but right now, he can't stand the idea of suffering the feeling under his skin while not touching Zhongli. (It may be he simply craves the touch of any complimentary aspect that can continue to ease the discord, but Childe chalks it up as it needs to be Zhongli specifically.)
He doesn't care what Zhongli makes of it. Childe doesn't know what to make of it himself, really, but he knows he feels undeniably less frayed at the nerves and unsafe when like this.
The cat has come to now start nuzzling both Childe and Zhongli in alternation as best it can, as if comforting the both of them. ]
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He does not know what to say so he does not say anything. He does not know what to do so he does not do anything but mirror Childe's need for physical affection.
For how long they stay like this, who can say? Time had been wildly distorted all evening so Zhongli will take whatever peace that can be found in the aftermath.
As time wears on and the weariness begins to seep into his bones, the beginnings of a Communion form between the two unintentionally. It is one not meant for words or even the sharing of thoughts or memories. Just--- feelings, as odd as they were to convey. The relief that Childe was safe. The echoes of fear of something terrible happening to him. And the warm and quiet comradery of two lost souls finding solace in the presence of each other ]
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Oh, but tonight has well explained exactly how he can be so now, hasn't it?
He's afraid, but he can't express it. Afraid despite not giving in or cowering away from the discord. Being a part of the Abyss has steeled him for most things, but not for something quite like the discord, where it seems terrifying forces can come out from nothing inside of him. There's nothing he can do about it, either. He's long prepared himself for the inevitable day where he assumes he'll eventually succumb to the Abyss and turn fully into nothing more than a mindless monster if his life doesn't burn out or get prematurely smothered first. He hasn't prepared himself for experiencing that type of thing, however, if it involves himself remaining conscious throughout it. It's the most powerless he's ever felt, and the memory of—
Childe wants to cry like he did when he was a child. He longs to be able to cry, to run to his mother and father for safety and comfort. Crying made the fear or the pain tangible to Childe back then: afterall, it eased up as soon as he no longer felt a need to cry, whether through emotional comfort or physical care from his loved ones.
But now...?
( ha, now he welcomes the pain, and brushes aside the fear as nothing more than a suggestion of how to feel about something rather than the requirement. )
Now?
( now, tonight, none of that has gone as it should of normally have like all the other times before it— )
—And so he clings to the person who's here letting him do so without an explanation, his body dead weight against the other man as Childe's dark blue eyes bleed salt water like blood. It's such a hollow and empty feeling, and there's nothing the youngest of her Majesty's elite is aware he can hope to do about it beyond endure and suffer on through it.
Eventually, the tear ducts run dry; and slowly but surely, Childe finds increasing peace in Zhongli's arms as the discord continues to unravel and dissipate. ( Childe wants more, though. He wants the high of flushing Discord out far more rapidly through sex. Except he can't bring himself to even mention it to the Archon. He can't ask— he's to afraid of being told no, but he's even more afraid of being told yes— or is the other way around, he doesn't know...! )
Ultimately, he stays silent without a hint of expressing such a desire, and part of that he's sure is aided by how damn exhausted he is. Zhongli must be, too. Even if not physically warped by the discord like Childe, he knows the other has harmonized and that using his abilities excessively will eventually exhaust him, as well. He's also sure Zhongli is exhausted mentally ( yet it never once crosses his mind that that exhaustion may be due from stress over Childe and his well-being in any form. )
Which is why when that communion link establishes and those feelings trickle out like they're seeking osmosis, his attention is caught by them. Oh... that surely must be Zhongli's feelings naturally for anyone left from Teyvat.
( Still, it's admittedly a little bit extra pleasant to feel them, anyway, almost like warm sunlight in one's face after a sky-blackening storm. )
There's comfort felt simply in that casted solace they find together, that no words have to be exchanged or explanations given or excuses made. Childe's feelings eventually trickle to mingle and to be shared, as well. An apology. A promise and reassurance. Even as they both intrinsically understand already that it's a promise that will inevitably be shattered into the wind.
Still... Childe promises it to Zhongli, anyway. ( Because the Eleventh never breaks his promises, and it's the only thing he can think of that will give him the ability to fight such a hopeless battle rgba next time he's cornered. )
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Oh.
Childe is crying. Even if there is no sound, even if there is no visible signs of it save for the damp spots that cling to Zhongli's skin and clothing--- Childe is crying. Ah, how easy it is for Zhongli to forget just how young this mortal is. Wise and experienced beyond his years, but still just beginning to find his way though life. Grinning and bearing through the pain and horrors no one should ever have to see. Childe... It takes more effort than Zhongli would like to admit to keep his hands still at that realization. More than anything, his mind (his own discord?) urges him to reach out and to wipe those tears away, to soothe the other's thoughts, to make sure that the liquid that came off on his fingers did not stain like black ink.
He wants to comfort Childe.
But how - Zhongli does not know. It had never been a strong suit of his. Not when he had reached out a hand to the battle weary face of the newly anointed adeptus, karma roiling off of him in angry dark waves as a result his forced servitude to a cruel master. Not when he had awkwardly patted a half adepti on the head as she munched on a whole bouquet of sweet flowers, a scandalized squawk of feathers swiftly descending on them both to pry some of the stalks away. And not when he sat quietly next to a dear old friend, holding out to her a worn bell in his hands that they both would never ring again as tears streamed down her face.
Words seem unnecessary in this situation. And Childe's pride as a warrior has him hesitating, to make sure he is walking that fine line of providing comfort but not having the Harbinger perceive it as a weakness.
And so one hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, as the collar of Zhongli's shirt darkens with tears. Fingers thread through fiery locks as he strokes gently and what he hopes is soothingly at his scalp. He turns towards Childe, hesitating, before placing a kiss against his temple and then drawing him in closer. Touch should soothe the discord, both his and Childe's. So that is what he should be focusing on. He shifts again, pulling his own gloves off with his teeth before placing them back upon Childe - again at the nape of his neck and one wrapped around his waist.
"You do not have to promise me anything. Nothing except that you will survive for as long as you can. That is the only promise I ask of you."
Zhongli does not speak these words. Not aloud. Just sends these feelings back over the bond as he feels Childe restless to do something - to make a vow, offer an apology, reassure Zhongli. It does not matter. Zhongli needs none of those things.
He only needs this one person - this friend and this confidant, one who knew him better than most even if all of Liyue harbor was hale and whole. He just needs Childe to be here so that he will not succumb to his own loneliness.
(Perhaps that was a cruelty when Childe had already lost so much. When Childe had endured so much. Would it be kinder if he was with his family now instead of stuck here fighting yet another battle against fate? It would. It certainly would. But still--- Zhongli did not want to let go.)
And so he does not. ]
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The feelings of uncertainty drip off of him in response, even as he sinks further into the attempted comfort Zhongli provides. In his right mind he should be stunned that Zhongli is offering any of this and going further still, but perhaps that just reaffirms —if the tears have not, already— that he is in an incredibly unstable and vulnerable state of mind. Despite everything, the discord has indeed taken its toll and left things fragile. It's not permanent, no, Childe is too resilient to let it stay this way going forward and Zhongli has made that all possible, but in the immediate interim the discord has provoked fears that have been long ignored as he hardened his mind against such a concept. Death wasn't scary. Killing others wasn't scary. Fighting monsters wasn't scary. Becoming a monster somewhere down the line wasn't scary— afterall, wasn't he more than enough a monster in what he'd done and what he would continue to do? The physical aspect was merely a finishing touch.
Yet the discord has temporarily stripped him of all of that intrinsically-crafted armor, the years of commitment to hardening his heart against his own misfortunes.
"I'm not allowed to want to stay with you." he wants to, though. The boy wants and wants, pressing closer against the only anchor there.
I'm not allowed... but I want to, anyway... so I will." ]
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Where the earth meets the sea, the earth is patient and welcoming as it waits for the tide to come in. The earth wishes to hear the tales of far away lands that it will never reach, of sceneries that lie beyond it borders. And as the water recedes, it takes a part of the land with it so that it remembers the warmth of land.
This is what Zhongli offers to Childe over communion, hushed soothing tendrils of geo elemental energy to chase away the lingering nightmares. It's in the touch of his hands against Childe's still clammy skin, the gentle touch of their cheek to cheek, and the way that Zhongli holds Childe so that he remains his solid ground and safety net. Nothing can reach him here.
This time, though, he whispers the words softly - barely audible even in the quiet stillness of their living. ]
I do not know why you believe you are not allowed this, but you invited me in. You gave me a place to stay.
Will you not allow me the opportunity to do the same?
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