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Diluc saw red first and everything else second.
It was why he dealt with matters first-hand instead of leaving it to the Knights of Favonious. The Knights were useless in their efforts. Slow to form and slow to act. Mondstadt couldn’t afford for thieves and murderers to take root, couldn’t afford to let them rule as they wanted.
So, Diluc took to the streets, reacquainted with his discarded vision; a painful thing that felt heavy in his hand with every step that he took.
The memory of his father, lifeless next to him, at the behest of his own hand. It was a bittersweet thing, this power that he held again. It was said to be a gift of the Gods. It still felt to be a gift of the Abyss instead.
And now, it was his conviction, an extension of Diluc’s power so readily poised at his fingertips.
By day, Diluc was affable enough. His patrons enjoyed his presence and his employees did as well. The Knights tolerated him, aside from Kaeya. Diluc hated that he wanted nothing to do with the man, yet, still found ways to remain in his orbit.
Be it late nights at the tavern or fighting side-by-side; there was tension there, thick as the sea-rope used to tie boats to port. But, there were things that most couldn’t overlook even in times such as this. He and Kaeya had history; brutal and familial in its core and unavoidable.
Even if Diluc would rather punch his smarmy face right in. Kaeya would welcome it right after he’d down a glass of wine or two. Always the fighter when just barely drunk. Always wanting to relive those old memories of when they were brothers because he had so little left in the present.
Diluc wished he felt the same. Instead, he only saw a red-tinged world spoiled by his anger. He felt the way that it bled through him, tingling in his fingers. Itching to fight instead.
He scratched that itch often enough that he’d gained a cult following.
It wasn’t supposed to be the case, of course. Diluc hated the limelight, hated the whispers about the Darknight Hero that seemed to be everywhere that he turned. It was supposed to be beating the shit out of the bad guys and leaving them to rot on the Knights headquarters.
It was supposed to be a call to action, a taunt to spit in their face. They needed to do better. There needed to be less bureaucracy and more head-cracking, because it was clear as day that that’s what did the trick.
It was no different that day.
Jean sighed at the sight before her, rubbing tiredly at her face. Tapping her foot impatiently as she surveyed the trio tied back-to-back before her.
“Unlike you to just drop them off and stick around,” she said, looking at Diluc.
Usually, he did exactly the opposite, fucking off before he could properly be seen. Jean wasn’t dumb, though; she’d known exactly who the Hero was far before she ever saw him in action. She had her own eyes and ears everywhere in the town. And then, of course, Lisa, a veritable spymaster extraordinaire.
People thought that librarians only had their heads in books. People were wrong.
“Wouldn’t have to bother if you’d do your job,” said Diluc in a huff.
Jean rolled her eyes at him. “You know that I have to go through proper channels--”
“I know,” cut in Diluc, already tired of the well-rehearsed diatribe.
“It’s out of my hands, Diluc--”
Diluc scoffed, crossing his arms. Jean followed suit, mirroring him, her gaze narrowing.
“You’re the acting Captain,” said Diluc finally. “You have pull.”
“Not enough to suggest going entirely against protocol.” Jean sighed, looking away as she ran a hand through her hair. “You know how it goes, Diluc. We hear the rumors, then we investigate. And if they pan out, then we send out--”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Diluc, impatient as always. “It isn’t quick enough. There’s a reason Mondstadt is overrun with the ill-intent nowadays. They know that’s how you operate.”
Jean sighed. Looked tired. And maybe Diluc was being cruel, but in the end, something needed to be said. And be done. If the knights weren’t up to the task, he’d gladly keep up the mantle.
“Do you have to wear that ridiculous mask?” asked Jean, a soft smile spreading wide across her face.
Diluc didn’t smile back. In fact, he didn’t respond to the quip at all, moving to readjust said mask against his face instead. “I have other matters to attend to--”
“You know, we would welcome you back,” said Jean.
Diluc paused. This wasn’t anything new, it was something she often reminded him. Usually, it only made him angry, made his vision turn that deep crimson color that he viewed the world narrow-mindedly through but--
Today, he only felt tired. Diluc sighed, readjusting his gloves, touching his mask, doing anything but looking at her. And Jean sighed too, already having expected such a reaction.
“I might have to arrest you if you keep this up,” she said next. Again, a common warning, something he heard all the time.
“Noted,” said Diluc in that droll, passive tone of his. And really, he didn’t care. Jean could try all she wanted. She was good, even he had to admit, but Diluc was positive that he still held the upper hand. Despite her threat, Jean would be overly cautious and her words would remain hollow.
They had been so far.
“If you bring me any more, do me a favor and dump them out back. Makes us look bad when you throw them on our step.”
Diluc smirked-- just the tiniest little quirk of his lips-- and looked at Jean. “That’s the entire point.”
Jean rolled her eyes again and then huffed, just a small, agitated little breath. But then she waved whatever her next thought was away, and told her companions to accompany their new acquisitions to the prison.
Diluc turned to leave and Jean spoke again.
“At least be careful out there.”
“I always am,” he said to her.
He wasn’t. Jean knew that. Lisa knew that. Everyone knew that-- it’s why they kept such a close eye on him. They were less worried about their public image and more worried about Diluc himself, and his mildly self-destructive ways.
Diluc met her gaze one last time. “Turn that concern to your own. I still have to kick Kaeya out night after night when he’s had one drink too many.”
Let it be known that he didn’t not care. Jean looked resigned at that, pressing her fingers to her temple once more. “Right,” she murmured. Then she waved him off and Diluc took his leave.
After that and late into the night, it was the same grind as always.
Watch for criminals. Beat criminals. Tie criminals up and dump them on the knights’ doorstep for them to see. Then, watch the knights scramble as they did damage control to reconcile their reputation. Endless entertainment for a rather dreary and boring day.
Diluc hunted not because he wanted, but it was the only way he felt worth. His father was dead, his brother was lost in more ways than one, and the world was an angry and cruel place, rose-tipped and wine-colored at its bleeding edges.
If Diluc was going to be stuck there and slog through his life in such a place, he should do some good, even if it was vigilante in nature.
His fingers itched to fight, palm wrapping tightly around the hilt of his claymore. There were Fatui not more than thirty paces away, no doubt planning something more nefarious than most.
Diluc's vision burned brightly alongside the boiling in his blood.
Might as well, he thought before jumping into the carmine fray.