Chapter Text
Lord Barbatos, spare my son.
I beg you.
~=~
Crepus knows from the moment his Delusion hums to life that he will not survive this fight.
Ursa is too powerful, too overwhelming, strength and teeth bearing down on him, a whirlwind - and he is running on borrowed time. Borrowed strength, borrowed power, borrowed life. The Fatui always reclaim their debts, with interest - he knew this when he accepted their aid. Knew this when he signed their contracts.
(The realization weighing on him, months and months, that his life is forfeit. Hanging over him like some hideous Sword of Damocles, inescapable, the string separating him from death slowly fraying -)
All things considered, this is a mercy. An honor , even. What father could ask for more than to die protecting his son? Better, more worthwhile, than being slaughtered once he’s outlived his usefulness - he’d shed his own blood for his children over the Fatui any day.
It would be hard to call what he feels peace . More like - making the most of a bad hand. Seeing the comfort in the tragedy. The honor in the corrupt. Crepus does not smile as he strikes out, Delusion screaming, wailing, carving its claws into his chest, but he does bare his teeth in something like one, in the certainty of approaching death, and the knowledge that it will be a righteous one, a good one, without regret -
- his foot slips.
Or rather, it - falls. Like missing a step on a staircase, like the ground crumbling under your feet on a cliffside. Something becomes nothing, and his heart leaps into his throat, his stomach swooping, and -
Crepus is not a fighter. Not a knight, not like his sons - he is a businessman, first and foremost. He does not have the reflexes for combat, the honed skill to maintain his balance and foothold at any cost. He has always relied on the Delusion to apply brute force - he has never learned beyond that.
So, when the ground betrays him, when reality betrays him, he is powerless to stop his fall. His body pitches to the side, falling further and further into the inexplicable nothing. He sees - he sees darkness, and deep purples, and blues, and an endless, starless void -
The Delusion slips from his hand, flying off into space, as Crepus falls into the depths of the Abyss.
~=~
Please. I would give my life for him.
More, even.
~=~
Falling into the Abyss is a little bit like dying.
The noose is wrapped around your neck from the first moment of your descent. You cannot escape from it, and you cannot loosen it. If you are weak, if you allow something to chip at your defenses - the cold, perhaps, or the homesickness, or the claws of some hungry riftwolf - the noose tightens.
If you are a fighter, you can buy more time until your breathing caves in from the pressure. If you are not…
Crepus is not a fighter.
The noose tightens when he searches the nearby expanse for his Delusion, and fails to find it. The noose tightens when he shivers from the cold, his coat unable to ward off the chill. The noose tightens when he fails to find food, or water.
The noose tightens almost to strangulation when he encounters a starving Abyss mage and has to fight for his life. He’s lucky - the mage is weaker than he is. It collapses before it can kill him, the exertion too much for its fragile frame. He drives the blade of his pocketknife through its heaving chest, ash and blood coating his hands, adrenaline making his arms shake.
The rattling cry it makes is haunting in its inhumanity.
~=~
It was only supposed to be me. I was the only one meant to suffer. Lord Barbatos - can’t you see how monstrous this is?
~=~
He is going to die.
Surely. Surely he is going to die. He’s been running for what feels like forever, dodging, evading. Fleeing from every strange sound he hears, fleeing from every movement. He’s so tired. His limbs are so heavy. He, he -
He’s found some water sources. Stagnant, putrid still water trickling from the world above. It tasted vaguely metallic, but it hasn’t made him sick yet, thank Barbatos. Still, there’s no food here. Nothing grows in the void. Nothing exists but faint stars and beasts he doesn’t have the strength to kill. There’s a gaping, nauseous hole where his stomach should be.
(Regret, regret -)
No sense in regret. Wasn’t his life already forfeit? What business does he have to feel sorrow?
(Because I could have lived, I could have stayed with my sons, I could be home -)
No sense in regret. No sense in regret.
A growl, from the shadows. Crepus resists the urge to sob, and runs.
~=~
How dare you. How, how dare you look on, call yourself a protector, call yourself our god -
I am not angry for myself. I do not have that hubris, to value my life so highly -
But I am angry for him. He is everything to me. I know I have sinned, but what, what has he ever done to deserve this?
~=~
A sound in the silence. Crepus tenses, stiffens, looks up. He’s dizzy on his feet, with hunger and thirst and lack of sleep, but the adrenaline still manages to rouse him, the instinctive desire to live, to live -
(Your life is forfeit - )
These noises are different, however, he realizes. Measured, paced -
Footsteps. Like his own. Without the hum and buzz of Abyssal power, no less, without the monstrosity, in fact, in fact, they sound - human.
Someone trapped here with him? Or a trick? He doesn’t know - it would be foolish to stay - but. But he knows he doesn’t have the energy to run anymore. His muscles are too weak, too shaky, barely supporting his weight as it is. How much longer would he even survive?
At least, if he dies here, he won’t die alone.
The footsteps draw closer. Stop. He squints, but in the darkness, it’s hard to see more than a blur of red -
“Father?”
His blood goes cold. He knows that voice. He knows, he knows, he, he -
( No, wait, why - )
He’s hallucinating. He has to be. This cannot be real. This cannot, this cannot -
But the footsteps are drawing closer. Hastening. Bootsteps echoing in the space, a fast walk breaking out into a run -
“Father!”
( What is he doing here - )
Crepus’ vision swims into focus. He wishes it hadn’t. Diluc is smiling. Smiling, bright and wide like the day he received his promotion to Cavalry Captain, the day they first celebrated Kaeya’s birthday, like every time Crepus has ruffled his hair and said I’m proud of you, my son -
( No, no, no, nonononono - )
“ I finally found you, “ and he sounds so desperate, so happy, so relieved. He reaches for Crepus, grasps his shoulders, eyes glittering with grief outshone by sheer unbridled joy -
(This is real, this is real, why, why does it have to be real -)
His voice echoes oddly, as if it’s coming from far away. He can’t seem to breathe right. What is this seizing, cold feeling in his chest? Why does it feel like he’s dying, more surely than the Abyss could kill him? "My son. Tell me you found a way out of here. Tell me that's why you're here. "
(He’s going to vomit.)
Diluc’s smile flickers, dims. His grip on Crepus tightens. “I don’t - I was looking for you -”
No, no. Something in Crepus’ chest shatters. Something loud and screaming and agonizing -
(It’s the first time that his heart breaks. It will not be the last.)
~=~
Lord Barbatos, if this transforms me into a heretic, then so be it. It would not be the greatest of my sins.
For allowing this to happen, for abandoning him, for damning him and forcing me to watch…
I care not what may befall me.
I will despise you until the end of my days.