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i.
How do you kill a god?
Ajax is fourteen when he poses the question to a woman he doesn’t know.
“There are no gods here.” She tells him, eyes blank, staring into the darkness at something he can’t see.
It’s a lie. It has to be a lie. There are gods in every part of Teyvat; from Rex Lapis to his very own Tsaritsa. There are gods at the bottom of the ocean and encased in mountains that are thousands of years old – sometimes, if he presses his palm flat to the cold, hard ground, he feels as though Teyvat itself is a god, living and breathing underneath his feet.
“A god’s existence depends on the need for them.” His master explains. “Your Tsaritsa was once the goddess of love, because that is what her people needed. Now, she’s not, because they don’t need that anymore.”
Her gaze shifts back to him, dark, almost soulless eyes staring into his own. Sometimes, he wonders if his master ever had a soul. Or if this place, this endless abyss, simply ripped it from her chest.
“And here, there is no need for gods. There is nothing divine about this place – you would do well to keep that in mind.”
He does.
ii.
How do you kill a god?
Ajax is eighteen when he plans it.
He doesn’t need the blessing of the Tsaritsa. He already has that of the Hydro Archon, making him significantly more powerful than the average Fatui solider. He can kill a man in a thousand different ways, with a dozen different weapons, and he’s getting bored.
The next logical step is forward – the next level of the food chain, lying dead at his feet, is the victory he wants to claim.
“You’re an idiot.” His roommate and fellow solider tells him one night. “It’s obvious what you’re doing, Ajax. You want to take her on?”
Ajax is lying on his bed, flipping a knife in the air and catching it. It’s one of his calmer hobbies – something simple that still has the electrifying danger of being able to slice through his throat if he makes a single mistake.
“Think about it.” He tells his roommate. “If you kill a god, do you not become one yourself?”
It’s a sentiment that can only be truly believed by someone young and reckless and perhaps a little insane – someone just like him. To think that godhood is achievable by mere mortals is unthinkable by most people’s standards.
“You don’t even know what she’s capable of.”
“And you do?”
There’s a scoff heard from the other side of the room. And then nothing.
Ajax grins.
iii.
How do you kill a god?
Godhood is not achievable for Ajax.
It’s achievable for Tartaglia.
“You’ve done so well, my love.”
The Tsaritsa, once the goddess of love, holds none in her heart. Ajax, who kneels for no man, is on his knees before her, face bloodied and body half-broken. A mistake, perhaps, to fight Cryo with Hydro, but the deep, frosted-over slice in his god’s chest is proof that if nothing else, he can hold his own with the divine.
Her hand, ice-cold, is wrapped around his throat. One squeeze of her pretty fingers and he’d be gone, nothing but a frozen husk and a masterless Vision left behind.
“Not many would have to courage to face me.” She murmurs, inches from his face. “Let alone the courage to try and kill me.”
“Most would call it stupidity.”
This makes her smile; blood-red lips parting to reveal sharp teeth. Pale blue eyes regard him with mild interest, her gaze slipping up and down his body as if she is inspecting a piece of artwork.
She is horrifying and beautiful all in the same breath.
“Perhaps.”
To his surprise, she lets go. Her hand releases his neck, leaving a purple, frosted imprint that he can still feel when he breathes. The Tsaritsa turns, her long dress flowing behind her, as she returns to her throne of ice.
There is a solid ten feet of space between them. Ajax, at the foot of her throne. The Tsaritsa, looking down on him with some unknown hunger in her eyes.
“You wanted to know how to kill a god, young Ajax.”
She waves her hand, and something appears in her palm.
It’s a glowing purple orb, not unlike that of his Vision – but it’s different somehow. More menacing. It’s disturbingly enticing, the air around it crackling with electricity.
“How would you like to become one?”
iv.
How do you kill a god?
Childe will admit that it angers him. Rex Lapis, the oldest Archon, the former god of war, lies dead at his feet, and it is not because of him.
It had always been a secret sort of fantasy for him – to take on a god whose sole purpose was once destruction. The stories of Rex Lapis had been of great interest to him when he was younger; history books that outlined his many battles and accomplishments.
And yet, with the great dragon fallen, Childe feels nothing but rage.
Still, he has a mission. A purpose. He was looking forward to fighting the ancient god for his Gnosis, but he supposes a heist is almost as fun as a fight.
Almost.
He asks the question that’s plagued him for nearly seven years. He asks a man who ought to know – the most knowledgeable person he thinks he’s ever met.
“An interesting question.” Zhongli replies, tapping the end of his pen to his lower lip thoughtfully. “I suppose in the same way you would kill anything else.”
“Surely it’s not that simple, Zhongli.”
Childe sighs and slumps down into one of the dark wooden chairs that sit in front of Zhongli’s desk.
“Most gods cannot be killed. As long as they or the concept they represent serves a purpose, they will still exist in some form. Andrius, the great Wolf King of Mondstat’s Wolvendom, is dead. Yet his spirit remains as a protector of his realm.”
Something knowing glints in Zhongli’s unsettlingly bright eyes as he smiles at Childe. No, it’s not really a smile. More of a wicked grin. It makes the older man look as though he should have a set of fangs pressing into the plush skin of his lower lip.
“To kill a god, Tartaglia, you need to utterly obliterate them. Anything that makes them what they are must be gone. Because gods, too, can bleed, and therefore, they can be killed.”
His words are mildly troubling to Childe, who now sits up straight.
“But Rex Lapis’ legacy still remains. Then, is he truly gone?”
Zhongli looks away from him, out the window, at the harbor below.
“Who’s to say? For those who live forever, is death really the end?”
v.
How do you kill a god?
“What makes you think I know anything about gods?”
Lumine, for all her kindness towards others, has never shown such politeness towards him. He supposes there was never any need for it – from the beginning, their relationship has been based on lies. Why should either of them add to that by being someone they’re not?
“You’re an outlander, are you not?”
There’s a table separating them by about three feet, but it feels more like a mile. Lumine is a hero but she is not honest, and the brick wall she has built around herself is almost as secure as his own.
“What god are you planning on killing?” She deflects easily, picking up a fried piece of shrimp with her chopsticks as she does so. “I’m afraid you’re a bit too late for Rex Lapis.”
“You’re avoiding the question.” Childe sighs, giving up on his own chopsticks and placing them aside. “I’m not planning to kill one. But I’d like to know how.”
Lumine rolls her eyes and returns her attention to her food, but she gives him an answer.
“You take away the thing that matters most to them. A god lives forever, but they still care about something. Without that, they’re nothing.”
Childe considers this. Considers what he would be like if his family were taken from him.
“Still, they won’t be dead.” He points out.
Lumine raises her head and meets his gaze.
Something about her has always unsettled him. It’s not unlike the way Zhongli is sometimes knows just a little too much. Lumine acts like she’s seen a little too much. Now, Childe is no stranger to the way trauma ages a person, but some days, Lumine speaks as if she’s a thousand years old. Often, when he walks along the boardwalk with her, he catches her staring at the stars like they’re telling her something – searching for something he doesn’t quite understand.
“Dying isn’t always physical, Childe.” She murmurs. “Sometimes, a person’s soul dies long before they do.”
He thinks of his fourteen-year-old self. Ajax, a young boy who wanted to be something great.
And now that he is something great, Ajax is dead. So really, who is he now?
“Yeah.” Childe mumbles. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
(death, and a god)
“Do you have the answer you seek, Tartaglia?”
Zhongli’s hand is warm on his back, despite the layers of fabric separating them. They stand on the balcony of Childe’s Liyuen apartment, overlooking the harbor.
He doesn’t. The question has plagued him for seven years, and he’s come to the conclusion that he will never have the answer he wants. It’s never something as straightforward as poison or a knife.
But a god cannot die.
He thinks of the Tsaritsa, no longer the goddess of love, but a cold, cruel Archon with no heart in her frozen chest. Her existence voids Zhongli’s answer – Snezhnaya no longer believes in love, and yet their Cryo queen still reigns eternal.
He thinks of his master, a woman forever tied to the Abyss, a woman eternal in her godless, lawless land.
He thinks of Lumine, otherworldly and divine in her mystery, missing a piece of herself. Forever searching for something she can’t seem to find.
“Yes.” Childe says, turning to face his associate. “I think I have.”
Zhongli smiles sweetly at him, hand still on his shoulder.
“Zhongli.”
Childe’s hand rests on Zhongli’s chest, just above his heart. Today, Zhongli has forgone his usual three-piece suit for a simple button-up. Beneath the thin layer of fabric, Childe can feel how warm he is.
There is no heartbeat.
“Tell me, Tartaglia.”
Zhongli moves closer, so that there is almost no space between them. He leans in, face nearly presses against Childe’s neck and his breath warm in his ear. Hell, this close, Childe can feel Zhongli’s lips curve into a smile.
“How do you kill a god?”
With his right hand, Childe presses his fingertips into the thick, rock-like muscle of Zhongli’s chest. With his left, he slips his mask from his hair onto his face. The air darkens around them, purple electricity crackling through the air.
Tartaglia plunges his hand into Rex Lapis’ chest and rips out what little heart he has left. The former god slumps forward, his weight almost comforting against the harbinger’s body as he lets out a pained grunt.
“With another god.”