Chapter Text
It was snowing in Mondstadt the night of the first encounter. The drifting snow sparkled like stars against the deep blue, near black, sky. The night was still…and empty. Is this what they called “the Dead of Night?”
Idle thoughts didn’t dare infiltrate the mind of the shadow that shifted along the realm. His boots sizzled across the snowy landscape, almost appearing to be gliding along the black and white expanse. But there was no one to witness. As it should be. Up the incline and around the bend if his sources were correct; they usually were. Rarely has he ever acted on possibly false information; every grain of detail was held with utmost scrutiny.
Figures up ahead: a camp. The flickering flame was the only thing moving amongst this plane. Not even spirits nor ghouls dared to sigh in the stillness. He remained out of sight of the group. Twenty of them or around that number was the estimate given. A group of Szenhayeans specifically Fatui. Not on diplomatic business which meant they were fair game to his blade.
He slips in downwind, the party none the wiser to the fate that was about to befall them. Ribbons of flame flash in brilliance for mere second intervals followed by the sound of yells and splattering blood. The last thing these unfortunate souls would see was searing red before their descent to Hell. For those whose souls laid in queue for damnation, the darkness only offered brief respite as another flash of flame would have another one of their allies be slain right next to them, leaving them bathed in friendly blood. None could react in time as their numbers declined in mere moments from all to few to none.
It was dark again. Even the warm fire had been extinguished by numerous fallen bodies, no chance to feast on their flesh as it had been immediately overwhelmed by them. Only his flames were worthy of this feast, for it was the conduit of damnation itself.
The clouds begin to clear, revealing the crispness of a waxing gibbous. The white moonlight poured onto the hooded man who did not make any attempt to slink back into the darkness. His hands still grasped the handle of his claymore, he surveys the mound of bodies that surrounds him. His work was incomplete. The corner of his mouth quivered in dissatisfaction though he was well aware that the final one wouldn’t be among the dead here.
As if on cue, an arrow flies past the man’s head, splashing like a pellet of rain on the ground behind him. He looks up. The figure who stood before him was a ginger man clad in gray with a long, red scarf wrapped loosely around his collar area; he was perched on top of a large stone nearby, bow drawn at the intruder. He looks at the scene beneath in disapproval. He speaks.
“You really went and made a mess of our camp. Talk about no self-control.”
The man on the ground simply glares at him.
“Hmph.” He grunts. “Doesn’t appear you had any intention on stopping me, so quit acting like you weren’t enjoying the show.”
The bow wielder shrugs disinterestedly.
“Was I not to have faith in a twenty versus one encounter?” He gives a light chuckle. “Guess I’ll have to keep lunatics like you in mind when calculating the odds. That is some serious bloodlust you’ve got there.”
The hooded figure raises his claymore and lets it rest on his shoulder.
“I don’t like hypocrites…” He growls. “Especially from the likes of you, Harbinger Tartaglia.”
The man on the boulder raises an intrigued eyebrow. He kept his bow’s string cocked at the intruder.
“Ooo, someone’s been doing their research.” His eyes were sparkling with excitement as a grin appeared on his face. “And is it really that obvious? What can I say? Assassins are my favorite…I just hope you’ll last a bit longer than the rest.”
In a burst of red flames, the hooded figure launches himself at the ginger man. His blade clashes against something solid, but there is an unexpected sound of sloshing accompanied by sizzling. The assailant’s eyes are immediately drawn to the glowing blades of water that steamed against the flaming steel. He recognized the blue hue of Hydro.
The ginger’s smile widens as the two struggled in their altercation.
“You know…I think I know who you are too, Diluc Ragnvindr.”
The two leap away from each other. As he lands, the hood flies off the man’s head, revealing a crimson mane. The hellblaze of hair was contained in a ponytail that flickered angrily like the flames that were consuming his blade right then. His eyes gleamed with malice at his opponent. Tartaglia smiles back in satisfaction.
“To think I would catch the attention of none other than the booze kingpin himself. Really. It’s truly an honor.” He gives a slight bow.
Diluc rushes him again, but Tartaglia, nimble on his feet, dodges swing after swing, the heat of each strike tickling his cheeks. He rotates on his heel to an offensive stance where he gives a few slashes of his own which the other evades with minimum effort.
“So, what does the Dawn Knight want with my head?” Tartaglia asks.
“Don’t call me that.” Diluc growls; the animosity on the tip of his tongue could sear the air.
“Right.” Tartaglia chuckles. “Former. Good to see you took your Vision back.”
“If you know that much about me, then it should be obvious why I’ll be sending you to join your Fatui colleagues over there in Hell.”
“They didn’t give your dad that Delusion.”
The claymore slams against the ground, searing the end of Tartaglia’s scarf. Diluc follows up with a horizontal slash in which the Harbinger throws his shoulders back to duck, the blaze inches from his nose.
“You’re fast with that thing.” He comments, relishing the other’s subsequent look of frustration. “I didn’t give it to him either.”
The strikes become more and more relentless with each word uttered. Diluc’s eyes glowed in lividity.
“Not all Fatui are bad, you know.” Tartaglia counters a stream of flashes coming his way with his own manifestation of liquid. The subsequent steam surrounds the two of them, and Diluc pauses his attacks briefly. The two opponents circle each other carefully in the fog.
“Anyone willing to join an organization like yours…there can only be wickedness your hearts.” Diluc utters.
“Are you saying there isn’t any in yours?” Tartaglia rebuttals.
Neither of them make a move just yet as neither could quite discern when and where the other would strike from.
“My sins ensure no more innocent people are taken advantage of.”
“Who’s to say our actions don’t have similar intentions?”
Diluc is first to act; he launches the flames that were once engulfing his sword into the thick of the fog. The area illuminates orange from the blaze. The projectile’s form flattens into a bird-like shape as it propels itself forward and up into the sky, fizzling out in the chilling stratosphere. It had caused the steam to dissipate, and when Diluc looked around, the Harbinger was nowhere in his view.
“Flashy.”
Tartaglia’s voice sounds from above. Diluc looks up to see him standing on a small overhang that overlooked the campsite. The melted snow spilled down below and dripped from the surrounding trees. Tartaglia begins clapping.
“No doubt you’d put on a great performance. And as much as it pains me to interrupt our lovely recital, I’d rather not run into any fans. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You think I’ll just let you go?” Diluc’s grip tightens around his blade as he calls out to the Harbinger.
There was pure elation in the Fatui’s eyes as he met the other’s infuriated gaze.
“Are you saying you’ll chase after little ol’ me?” His eyes narrow teasingly. “I really have caught your attention, haven’t I?” He turns to leave. “I’m beyond flattered…Master Diluc.” The twitch of the other’s eyebrow only filled him with more satisfaction and rigor as he descended in the opposite direction.
Diluc began to step forward in pursuit but desisted. He simply watched the Harbinger’s ginger head bob out of sight over the hill. It was quiet, and clouds had rolled over the moon again, leaving him in complete darkness once more. His frustration, however quiet it was in the world around him, roared like a symphony of blood in his ears.
How dare a Fatui Harbinger of all people challenge his morals and ideals? He glances over his shoulder at the dark forms of Fatui bodies that had now accumulated a thin dusting of snow. The gleam in his eyes had grown dim and tired as he turned to walk the other direction.