Chapter Text
He blinks and finds himself knees deep in a river flowing through Nantianmen where the Dragon-Queller grows. His polearm is pressed firmly in his hand and the red that stains it is slowly dissipating into the water.
He stumbles numbly backwards, not possessing memories of quelling any monsters on the way there. It must have been an old grime then, he can only reason to himself.
The lower half of his body is cold, as if he was standing in the river for hours to come – the water seeping at his warmth as the moon made way to the slowly rising sun. How much time has passed?
He does not allow himself to linger on this thought as another wisp of god remains is directed to him by the wind. Not so far away from there – near the Stone Gates guarding the entrance to the harbor. He twirls his polearm, the notion of dismissing it forgotten, and allows the wind to take him to the place it whispered.
His spear is stained once again, its foes blurring before his eyes. The next time he looks at the blood staining the jade, he again does not know what was the last thing it has killed so.
-
The pouch on the left side of his hip starts weighing him down. It’s grounding when there is nothing to do but these moments are rare and fleeting. When he fights it becomes a burden that ticks off his balance and makes his strikes a little off center, prolonging the suffering of his opponents.
He should empty it once again.
It’s full of materials and remains that he sometimes remembers to collect after a battle. The bones and scales of geovishaps, masks and arrows and horns of hillichurls, and myriad of these weird cores that linger after killing a ruin guard. All of them are worthless to him yet he knows they have their uses. It would be a waste to let them rot in the forgotten corners of Liyue.
He leaves the mechanical parts outside of Cloud Retainer’s abode – she is the only person he knows that would put them to good use, and the rest he drops off at the desk in the main hall of the Wangshu Inn. The owner will sell them at a good price, making some Mora for allowing him to stay there undisturbed.
This hindrance out of the way, he returns to his post.
-
He finds himself standing at the top of the mountain in Guili Plains.
The breeze is warm and the air is crisp pure – no ichor of corruption to stain it yet. He allows the tranquility to lull him into meditation once again.
–
He blinks and there’s a mask on his face. The threads of karma burn on his soul and his vision swims as the enemies around him become more blurry with every breath.
He mindlessly sweeps his spear near the ground, knocking the two Milichurls cornering him off their feet. He takes this second of pause to rid one of them off its head and strike the other in the torso before a giant axe blocks his way to the neck in the nick of time.
He grunts, letting the millenia worth of experience in battles to guide him through the motions while he struggles to suppress the demons inside of him. The Voices are growing louder – their whispers more viscous and abrasive – and the harsh pull they have over his mind is enough to make him stumble in the real world.
He staggers to the ground, his polearm discarded to the side, and rips the mask off of his face before the poison-laced words they throw can sink into his heart. What would his Lord say, he thinks instead, had he seen him in such display of weakness? The thought is somber enough to raise him to his feet again.
His left biceps stings and there is a head of an arrow sticking out from it. He looks around, but there are only decaying bodies that can no longer be recognized. He feels numb as he rips it out of his body, allowing the blood to flow freely from the wound.
The red liquid pools at the base of his arms, dripping to the muddy ground with the softest of sound.
He closes his eyes with a shuddering breath. Their Words start replaying in his head before he can stop them, and he can only grip at the arrowhead in his hand as he forces them to stay silent in that one, dark corner of his mind. Another bead of blood drips to the ground, this one from atop of his palm, and his body moves on its own as it takes him away from the battlefield.
–
“Conqueror of Demons…”
The deep, rumbly voice wakes up his mind and his body stills for a second before he catches a breath. This is not the voice of his Lord, yet it’s still familiar.
He opens his eyes, the harsh sunlight blinding him immediately before he has a chance to block it. There is no weight of spear in his hand and he feels like floating – the usual strain of killing the demons reduced to a lingering echo of pain. He is lying in the water – shallow water – and there are eyes that are gazing on him from above.
His spine creaks as he straightens, looking at the stag before him with a careful dose of confusion and respect. “Moon Carver.” He acknowledges and lowers his eyes, looking around.
He must be in Jueyun Karst. The abundance of adeptal energy swirling in the air becomes more prominent the longer Moon Carver stares at him with a worrisome expression.
“One has been made aware of your presence in this land a few moonlights ago and deemed it a part of your endeavors in striking evil. Yet to see you linger there for so long has caused one to become perplexed.” Moon Carver explains finally, lowering its snout as if to examine Xiao’s water-soaked hair. “For what purpose did you return to the land of your past, Conqueror of Demons?”
Xiao looks around, noting that the only sound that makes it to his ears is a soft murmur of a warm breeze. He has no answer. Not to this question.
“I have caused you worry.” He says more than questions yet the illuminated beast before him tilts its antlers slightly. He sighs, looking at his gloves and taunting the muscles of his arm. He does not have an excuse for his actions, the happenings of which he is not even acutely aware. “I’m sorry for the trouble, I shall depart now.” He offers instead with a shallow nod of respect and stands up from the water.
Moon Carver does not stop him, merely continues to observe how he summons the wind and departs with unnecessary swiftness. If his expression falters and the ears of his beast form twitch a little, then Xiao is none the wiser about that.
–
The top of Wangshu Inn is a valiant point of observation across all of Dihua Marsh.There is no hill or piece of land that can escape his scrutinizing gaze whilst he’s surveying from atop of it – The Stone Gate and the Guilli Plains. Even the beaches of Yaoguang Shoal and slopes of Cuijun are under his watch.
And so he sits and watches, looking out for any threat to arise from the land that will require purging sooner or later.
The hours blend within themselves – moon and sun dancing together on the zenith as he awaits. He does not know how many days have passed, it holds no meaning to a being like him.
It’s uneventful. The wind carries soft melodies and plays with his hair, tousling through it and teasing at the hems of his robes from time to time, and the ever-present power of his lord continues to surge through the land – a steady thrum of geo present to anyone who cares enough to look after it.
He waits and waits, daring for the corruption to leak from behind the stone seals placed upon the bygone gods, living up to the title the humans bestowed upon him. His Vigil is an endless one, broken only by the call of his duty.
When the breeze brings him news of demons arising in Linjuu Pass, he stands up and heads to the destination without looking back.
-
The blood is an ever present companion of war.
Viscera of monsters splattered on the ground – guttural fluids and organs’ remains. The splintered bones and torn-through muscles. The carnage leaves no pleasant sights behind, and as its harbinger he bears no right to complain.
It stains his clothes from seam to seam – fabric soaking in the crimson liquid like a thirsted beast – and paints his boots and gloves and skin the same red that pools around him after battle. Only his mask and vision are kept clean. The power that’s embedded within them burns away any plight that might be left to fester.
He whisks clear his spear, but only the freshest of the stains come falling off. The rest of the ichor had already dried, clinging to the metal like a grotesque pigment of old. He steps towards the nearest river and dips his weapon, watching how the water around turns red and black upon the contact. Only when the crystal-clear jade starts glimmering under the moonlight again does he dismiss his polearm and step into the water himself.
It’s cold, but not enough to be scorching, and it soothes the pain where the karmic debt burns under his veins. It washes away the grime from his clothes and gore from his skin, clearing his mind as it does the body. Still, he can feel the blood dripping from his hair. It sticks them together, plastering them to the back of his skull.
It’s unpleasant, and so he closes his eyes, dipping his head underwater.
–
He blinks and there is a person looking at him.
The world around is silent – the wind not carrying over any warnings, any lingering wraths – and it feels like even the air itself has stilled at the moment he felt the eyes lustring him from head to toe.
The person looks awe-struck – surprised as if they weren’t prepared to even find what they are looking at right now. It’s that kind of gaze that’s reserved only for the things beyond one’s comprehension. It reminds him painfully of the look people in the Harbour would bear whenever his Lord would descend upon them.
It’s a look that feels too much like worship. Something that should not be directed at him.
His insides burn as he averts his gaze. He is gone before the person can blink again.
–
The blood blotches across his face and he has to close his eyes to not be rendered blind by the crimson liquid. With no friction to stop it, his spear shoots upwards, sending the severed head of his enemy rolling onto the stained, battle-weared ground. He grunts, feeling another foe approaching him from behind.
He tries to blink but the heavy and viscid gore of the monster has already begun to clot on his face, clinging to his eyelashes and clamping them together. Instead of trying to wipe it away, he grips his weapons harder and lets the wind guide him towards the next strike.
His muscles burn and the dying screech the monster makes a second after grates unpleasantly against his ears. More hot blood is splattered onto his face, left here to linger for long unlike the bodies that crumple to the ground and disintegrate in a few breaths.
He does not have time to wash it away as the cooling breeze whispers to him of another source of danger not so far away.
-
The next time he blinks, his eyes open to a soothing view that surrounds Mount Aocang. The tranquility of nature and the frolic teasing of a warmer breeze is enough to ground him in the moment, letting him take a long forgotten breath of fresh air. It’s calming, but not enough to sway him from his purpose.
“You called?” Xiao asks, the echo of his name still bouncing off the empty mountains that encompass Cloud Retainer’s abode.
“Hmph. This Yaksha is certainly a swift one.” the owner of the lake the soles of his shoes dip into comments. He looks over to the illuminated bird, scrunching his eyes to let his discontent be known for such a greeting.
Cloud Retainer does not seem to be phased by the action, ruffling her feathers in a dismissive manner before poking her beak at his hair as if to straighten the knots that have made their home there long ago. The tsk sound she makes after tells him that she’s not in good humor.
“One has made a slight mistake in one’s calculations.” She starts with an offended tilt to her head, locking eyes with Xiao to further convey her irritation at the subject. He looks at her flatly, waiting for her to explain everything in full. “Thus one is now in a dire need of Glaze Lilies for production of the incense the Goddess of Dust was most fond of before the approaching anniversary of the day of her passing comes around. One would like to trouble you, Conqueror of Demons, with gathering two bundles of said flower from the corners of Liyue for one’s usage.”
“Glaze Lilies?” Xiao questions quietly. After the Archon War and the flood that swallowed Guilii Plains, the flower was the most solemn to find anywhere. The only places he knows of having a chance to find them are at the fields of Qingce Village and somewhere inside the Liyue Harbor. Both of whom are occupied by people. He bristles at the thought.
“Surely you can descend to gather them yourself.” He says, pressing his lips together as to not show his reservation to the task too openly. “I may pose a danger to the people in the settlements. I would rather stay outside of mortals' realm.”
Cloud Retainer’s chest puffs up at that. “Hmph…One was aware of the Yaksha’s reservation towards mingling with people yet one was under the impression that a mere task of gathering flowers was not so demanding for someone of this status.”
He cocks his eyebrow, lazily wondering just what meaning her words bear. After a moment of silence, Cloud Retainer clears her throat and starts talking once again. “When one said one is in dire need as of now, one was not exaggerating.” She admits at last, letting out an elongated sigh. “If one were to acquire the incense in time for the anniversary, one needs to start drying the flowers tomorrow morning, as the process of creating the incense itself is quite time-consuming. One believes you understand the importance of this request?”
He doesn’t say much in return, only dips his head in a politeful bow and lets the wind take him towards the east.
-
As the dusk begins to break and most of the workers have started to leave for their homes, he gathers one bundle of Glaze Lilies from fields scattered around the Qingce Village. He snips the stems at the bottom, leaving them to regrow at their own pace, and binds the flowers together with a hasty knot before teleporting out of the view.
Next he’s left standing atop Mount Tianheng, watching how the very last of the mortals make their way out of the Yujing Terrace as the first chill of the night settles upon the land. Only when there is no one in sight does he descend upon the harbor himself.
His footsteps are kept quiet and his movements concealed by the dark – not a soul should be aware of his presence here.
Any Glaze Lilly he spots is cut off and added to the second, growing bundle in his palm, and before he notices there’s enough of them that he can hardly clench his hand to keep them from spilling onto the ground. It should be sufficient, he muses as he binds them with a strap of fabric.
“Conqueror of Demons, what a pleasure.” A warm voice calls out from afar and he straightens, letting the wind take him towards the source of it.
“Streetward Rambler.” He dips his head as the revered adeptus smiles at his appearance. The aged lines of her disguise tighten around her lips, making her look not so different from a normal, mortal elder. There’s something in that notion that ticks him off a little.
“My, my, there’s no need for that.” Streetward Rambler shakes her head seeing his action, “Surely an esteemed adeptus such as yourself should not bow to this mere mortal, don’t you think?” There’s a hint of mirth in her voice as she asks this question. Xiao offers no answer, only raises his head to look at her in question.
“You called. Do you have any need of me?”
“Hmm? Oh, no no, none of that. I just thought greetings were in order.” Streetward Rambler’s eyes crinkle at the edges as the smile on her face warms further. “Had I not spotted you there in the first place, I would have not thought of keeping you away from your duties. But as we’re already talking, do indulge my curiosity. It is a rare occurrence to see the Vigilant Yaksha in flesh, let alone in the harbor of all places. Have you finally grown inquisitive about the happenings of the mortal’s life and came here to observe?”
Inquisitive of the mortal’s life? Xiao almost raises an eyebrow at the question. He wouldn't dare to endanger humans with his presence, let alone do so for his own amusement. Instead of answering, he raises the bundle in his hand, showing it to another adeptus, “Cloud Retainer requested me to collect those.”
“Ah,” Streetward Rambler’s expression sombers, morphing into something hard to decipher. “For the incense I presume?” She sighs, turning away from Xiao towards the direction of Guili Plains. He remains silent, knowing full well she has yet to say something.
“It has been a long time since the fall of Guili Assembly.” Streetward Rambler remarks, the wind taking stray hair out of her bun and swaying it in a lulling motion. “I do know that she would not want us to linger on her memory for years to come, as all things ought to return to dust, yet it sometimes feels like the wounds of her passing are freshly carved into the heart.” She falls silent, looking towards the horizon. Xiao can only stay near her, not one to offer words of comfort, shuffling uncertaintly when her eyes begin to grow distant more and more.
It feels like years, but when she finally moves, she looks at him with a warm, apologetic smile. “If you don’t mind, could you ask Cloud Retainer to secure a small portion of incense for me? ...There’s always a time to say goodbyes, after all... may this year not be the last we remember to do so.”
He wonders briefly if there is a hidden meaning to her words, one that he has no talent of finding, but when a breeze calls his name he is shaken back to reality. He nods stiffly to the Streetwards Rambler before reaching towards the wind and disappearing from the night-consumed streets of harbor. Later, as the dawn begins nearing the horizon, he drops off the Glaze Lilies at the table near Cloud Retainer’s abode, along with a small note on the side.
-
He opens his eyes and the threads of karma tighten at his wrists. He ignores them and clutches the shaft of his spear tighter before thrusting it into the chest of the monster before him. The sky above is bright, lightened by the moon in full bloom, and the pain in the deep of his muscles feels like a fire.
Just like the moon waxes on the night sky, so does the echo of karmic debt ebb and flow within his body. There is no wrath that can continuously fester with malice and hatred for millenia, yet if given a moonphase of repose it regains its strength and flares up to the physical realm again and again, letting out the anguish and contempt to devour not only his soul but his body too.
Xiao has spent centuries with the weight of his sins on his shoulders – has felt the debt gnawing at the narrow of his bones many times more, and so the sensation is nothing if not familiar at this point.
Still, he grits his teeth when a blinding-hot rope of karma coils around his ankles and surges up his calves like a whip set on fire, the sensation of which makes him stumble in his next attack. The miasma monster does not let it slide – just like he would not have if seen such an opening – and it strikes him hard, pushing the last few breaths out of his chest as he’s thrown across one of slopes of the Wuwang Hill.
The ragged coughs escape his mouth as he leans on his spear, swaying ever slightly to stay on his feet. His chest heaves with a need for air and his back feels like crumbling from the strength of impact. His vision is blurry, yet he can still see the dense fog emanating from his opponent – the wisps of bygone wraths clinging to their body and clouding their eyes.
He does not hesitate in throwing himself at the monster once again, the jade of his polearm glinting in the dark – a prologue of what is to come. He strikes, the tip of his spear burying itself in the flesh of a malignant foe, and the beast crumples to the floor, miasma leaving its body and letting it slump lifelessly like a puppet with cut off strings.
It’s his sole duty to dispose of it, and yet he still tenses when awaiting the inevitable to come.
The karmic debt that clutches at his soul burns as more of it is added to the bottomless pile. The threads at his wrist tighten further, numbing his fingers and sending the nerves aflame. The devilish ichor clings to his skin like a viscera he’s bathed in but with a knowledge that it cannot ever be washed away. No matter how many times he scrubs his body raw, the sensation of malady is ever-present.
He allows the wrath to settle in both his body and soul - an invisible weight on his spirit and unseen threads coiling around his limbs -- before flicking the remaining blood off of his spear and turning blindly towards another source of corruption.
His suffering is nothing in the face of his duty, and so more and more bodies fall lifelessly on the ground as the full-moon continues to shine brightly above.
This battle is a never-ending one. He’s long used to it.
-
He opens his eyes and finds himself in the Guyun – the forest of Stone Spears that no longer glow with the gold-like light of his Lord’s power. It’s been centuries since the place first began to look like an unassuming archipelago of islands instead of the uncanny graveyard of God the That Commanded The Tide, yet the remains of Osial are unmistakable and ever-present in its vicinity.
The monsters he purges there are vicious and blood-thirsty like no other, faithfully reflecting the temper of the force that wills them to arise. He subdues them to his best ability, returning them to water they once emerged from, knowing full well the cycle of hatred will repeat itself once more.
Now, however, there are no signs of evil spirits loitering around. The air is salty, as it tends to be the closer he gets to the vast Sea of Clouds, and the sunny weather is nothing like the brutal storms that take over the sky once some of the wrath escapes the unyielding ocean.
He finds some solace under the shade of one of his Lord’s weapons, a regal spear turned basalt and andesite, and allows his body to rest while his winds search for a sign of breakage in the seals that hold captive the full might of the vengeful God.
In another couple of weeks his duty will take him towards the north, to check on the restless spirit of Chi.
-
He blinks and blocks the axe flying towards his exposed back. He has no time to chastate himself for the carelessness before diving into the heat of the battle.
The tip of his polearm lodges itself between the ribs of his next foe, ripping to the side and spilling the guts in a crimson waterfall. The beast keens and kneels over, falling to the ground with a resounding thump. He whips his spear and slashes across the chest of another one that was brave enough to come closer while he was delivering the execution.
Blood falls onto the ground, watering the grass like no rain could. He keeps his attack close and steady, mindful of the slippery floor that grows vastless every second. He stabs and retreats, beheads and blocks – a familiar dance only he is left to live and remember.
Every sweep of his jade spear ought to be executed flawlessly, practiced and trained to perfection as there is no room for anything else. His moves should be fluid and effortless – as to to wage this endless war – and his mind should strive to be silent as he mourns another life taken with the line of his duty.
A rain starts dropping over the battlefield. His moves are erratic, his posture tense, and his head is filled with agony. The karmic debt that clutches at his soul sings in delight, feeding off the miasma that stains the demons around. The pain of it makes his hands tremble, but this is the only hindrance he willingly allows – least he thinks it to stop and the binds of karma will show themselves, twisting his intentions and roping tightly around them, squeezing his limbs until they grow numb and useless at his sides.
He is trapped in an endless dance, weary to the bone and exhausted in soul. There is no millenia worth of grace and technique – a perfect rendition of an art. Only centuries of suffering and an endless sin that weighs on his soul. As the soft platter of the rain echoes amidst the battle, he is left to endure it to the best of his ability.
–
He blinks and he is on the balcony of the Wangshu Inn, breathing in the humid air of the marsh that surrounds it. The branches of the gingko tree sway softly in the wind, their yellow leaves littering the wooden floor around.
He feels it before he sees it – a subtle thrum of his Lord’s power, warm and tranquil like an essence of a sunny day. The source of it is a little packing left on the railing, hidden away from mortal’s view.
He immediately knows what it is. What else could it be when the bitter scent of the Remedium Tertiorum is already wafting to his nostrils? The pills his Lord made himself are the only remedy that can somewhat offset the pain of karmic debt.
He doesn’t even think before he’s swallowing one of them, the rest tucked safely into the pouch on his hip. It lingers unpleasantly on the back of his throat, repulsing in its tart taste, but the effects it brings are immediate. His vision no longer blurs at the edges, and his wrists feel light freed from invisible shackles.
He knows the pain will return in a few days, unavoidable as it is, but that much time is enough to gain some repose in this perpetual agony.
–
The blinks and he is knees deep in the river that flows through the Upper Vale – the Jademouth ahead of him a landmark on its own. His spear is soaking in the flowing water, ichor and corruption leaving away with the tide.
He gazes after it, momentarily captivated by the swirling and trashing stain of red amidst the veridian current that soon takes a dive in and no longer surfaces, ceasing to exist. The water here is warm, much warmer than in the Luhua Pool or Guili Marsh, and the air is humid – dense fog blocking the view further than dozens of steps ahead.
He remembers the time the Bishui River ran with blood instead of this jade-like water. The mortal bodies cluttered the river floor, scattered around like forgotten toys, and tainted the waves poignant scarlet. The war with the god of this land was bloody and messy, scarring the terrain in many ways.
It’s been millennia since it has concluded, and the wrath of the god who was killed to end it, sealed away. The land had once again restored its glimmer thanks to the adepti that lived here who further nurtured the soil and water, using their power to cleanse the lingering corruption.
But it seems even the adeptal power is able to erode as the time passes. Not so far away from his place he can already see a miasmic cloud forming, dense and tall like the reed growing nigh, and a second after a pungent smell of decay and foulness is directed to him by the winds.
He readies his spear, leaping to action.
The corruption here grows heavy these days. He wonders idly why and when it will be that he alone won’t be enough to keep it at bay.
–
The Glaze Lilies in the Qingce Village are budding once again. He notices it only because he remembers faintly how he cut them off many moonlights ago. If one is to look closer to the steam can they find a trace of scarring where the plant regrew anew.
He leaves them to be, heading towards the waterfall that flows above the fields, in the mountain resting nearby. On his way there, he passes a few statues made in his Lord’s image that were planted here by the people of old.
To crush the remaining power of god that perished here, as well as to further strengthen the seal that fettered their soul to the stone core buried away – that was what his Lord said to them as he taught them to chisel the stone and embedded it with his power. It is no surprise then, that the statues were made with such worship and adoration. He bows to one of them glowing bright gold and continues his trek towards the cavern hidden behind the waterfall.
The air in it is damp, humid and earthy thanks to the water flowing through, but with a distinct, lingering scent of long festered malice. The spirit of Chi could never be pacified, even when his Lord separated him into pieces and scattered them across the area of Minlin.
He surveys the cave, searching for any crack or leakage of bygone hatred to have appeared in the time. He finds none, but the seal holding them enclosed has weakened slightly. He directs some of his own, tainted energy to sew it shut, lest the wrath finds the way through the loosened seams.
Overall, the Chi’s core seems untouched. He leaves it as that.
-
The weight of his polearm is something that he had to get used to.
It has been made from an abundant vein of jade. Heavy and sturdy and hard to break. The first few times he sharpened it, he almost cut off his fingers. Now, it’s like an extension of his arm – an inseparable part of himself that he can maneuver like a limb regrew anew. It’s solid under his palms, feeling not so different from the taut muscles rippling under his skin.
It was a gift from his Lord that’s been made for him and only him. A prize and reward and a symbol of his new obligations. He showers it in red as was asked of him. Paints it with ichor because that is what it was made to fulfill. He puts it into the fight for that’s all he knows of care.
Sometimes… Sometimes he wishes he could lay it down to rest. Let the shimmering jade grow muted like he’s seen happening to the time-weared ornaments. No longer touched but locked away in the glass cages, their purpose only to be looked at – pleasing the eye and not working away as normal tools. The relics of history that are treated like they can shatter under careless cares of a finger – like something precious and fragile.
It will never happen. His weapon was made to endure – made to be useful and be used. He will polish it with blood for millennia to come, sharpening the edge that has long been honed to perfection. He will slave it away like a mere spear and not revere it like one should a gift from a God. That is what was asked of him.
Xiao has always been best at obeying.
–
He finds himself in the underground dwellings in Mount Hulao, lured by the faint smell of miasmic activity. Even if the adept affinity of the mountains greatly diminishes the chances of bygone wrath clinging to any beast here, it is not completely impossible for it to do so.
It’s been decades since he last had to exorcize the demons in this land, and so he does not flinch in surprise as a flapping of the feathers echoes across the cavern when he ends wiping his spear of blackened gore.
“Conqueror of Demons, one was surprised to feel your presence under one’s abode.” Mountain Shaper exclaims, tucking his wings together and looking around the cave. The splintered bones of Geovishaps that resided here are scattered on the ground, blood pooling on the soil that is too solid for it to soak in properly – a scene of slaughter easily befitting Xiao’s reputation.
“I’ve only been doing my duty.” He answers and that seems to pull Mountain Shaper from intently surveying the surroundings. The illuminated crane straightens its neck, turning his inquisitive gaze to him instead.
Mountain Shaper comes closer to him, as if to get a better look, and Xiao dutifully stays still, allowing the adeptus to assess whatever he wants in peace. “Hmm. You seem more untroubled these days.” Mountain Shaper says finally after a few beats of silence.
“Do I?” Xiao raises his eyebrow, wondering just what the illuminated beast saw that told him so. Is this about how his face isn’t stuck in a scowl of pain? Or perhaps the way his muscles aren’t tense from the strain of killing? The answer should hold no meaning to him. “Rex Lapis sent me the medicine not so long ago. It’s been… helping.”
“Is that so?” Mountain Shaper hums quizzically, ruffling his feathers. When the silence prolongs, he starts spanning his wings and takes to the sky, leaving Xiao alone with more questions than he has arrived with.
-
He blinks and he is amidst the valleys of Tianqiu. Ruins of a long-withered kingdom are spreading before his eyes, a lone and crumbling visage of home to a once powerful army.
The war waged with the Dragon King of this land was a long one yet not as gruesome as one may think. When the King was still in his senses, he took pride in battles fought with honor. Only when he lost his way and went mad on a rampage did the lakes of the valley start turning red.
There are still traces of this civilization – servants of the King that followed his path and descended into insanity as well. When the war came to pass, they had buried themselves beneath the ground, counting days when their King would return to these lands so they could slaughter the lives anew. All of the dragons who had tasted blood had developed a peculiar thirst for it.
But the Dragon King they so believe in will never take a step in this realm again, sealed away far away from any means of escaping; leaving only the ruins of old and soldiers buried beneath them to remember of his reign.
He eyes the vishap that slumbers amidst the crumbling stone walls, like a guard stationed on post, and summons his spear to his side. One wrong step in its direction and these beaded eyes will open with a thundering force, jaw snapping at his limbs like a rabid dog with whatever elemental energy it pulls from the leylines.
Xiao’s duty is to protect the land of his Lords, and so when one of those tale-forgotten soldiers will rise from the ground, impatient at the centuries of wait, it will be him who will slay the beast, purging the world of another blood-seaking threat.
With the aid of his winds, he descends silently, plunging downwards so as to not give the beast any time for reaction. One by one, he will single-handedly exterminate this ancient civilization that fouls his Lord’s soil.
-
He hisses as the arrow lodges itself amidst one of his ribs and electric current travels through his veins. The fabric of his clothing is already soaking in the crimson liquid, but there is no time to rip out the head of the arrow to let it heal. He jumps, barely avoiding the next attack.
More crossbows are aimed at him in turn. He can feel the eyes of the shooters lingering on his back, searching for any opening in his defenses, but he gives them none, squaring his shoulders together and barring his spear in one, smooth arc.
He deflects the incoming projectiles, swatting them from the air like one may annoying bugs, and leaps forwards, thrusting at his enemy with enough force to send them upwards before impaling them on the polished jade. The tea-tree that towers over the slope gets splattered by blood – a horrid shower of ichor and gore.
The body is stuck on the tip of the polearm, a few moments before it will start disintegrating, but it doesn’t stop him from aiming his spear at another hilichurl that dared to cross his path. He readies and strikes, the power of his next slash making two of the corpses fall lifelessly to the floor.
No time to waste, he teleports to another monster hiding behind the boulders and beheads it with a single blow before going after another one – an act of senseless slaughter ingrained in his body and mind.
When he is done and there are no more bodies to fall, he takes a step towards a glob of ichor that is writhing on the ground. The miasma that tainted the monsters is witless once their flesh-puppets are no more and so he stabs it with no remorse, watching how the twitching and convulsing ceases as the corruption gets purged from this world.
All enemies eliminated, he does not linger here any longer, letting the winds take him to another group of monsters not so far away. Only when those are rid of too, is his job here considered done.