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Diluc fixed the hood over his hair, pushing back loose red curls into it, hiding them away and out of sight. The disguise worked wonders; he looked like one of those useless Fatui soldiers in the camp, blending in with ease.
He had only one mission in mind: to remove the Fatui from the inside, every soldier that fights, every harbinger, anything to get to the Tsaritsa. It didn’t matter what it took. Diluc has been doing this personal mission for two years now, but this is different. This time, he wasn’t going after information but a new target, the new harbinger.
From the information he gathered, the eleventh harbinger was very new, having only gained his title a few months ago. It should be an easy job after all, he had no status, yet the only problem is that the harbinger isn’t alone, instead, he is surrounded by soldiers teaching a training session. But it gave an opportunity for Diluc, an opening, if he just pretends to be a soldier and fights him he could defeat him in combat and they would just think he lost to a mere soldier and nothing else, Diluc will be far away by the time any other harbinger comes down to see who had killed the eleventh.
Once more, Diluc made sure not a single red curl was visible on his face, covered by the mask and hood, before going out. The uniform was a bit tight in the upper arms and thigh sections, but that could be chalked up to the soldier he took the clothes from just wasn’t his build.
Even with the thick layers, the moment he went outside the tent, he felt the bitter cold wind blowing on the visible part of his face. Many soldiers were walking around, some were doing normal tasks, others who challenged the eleventh harbinger were injured, which seemed to be injuries from electricity. So an electro vision or delusion, maybe? Most harbingers don’t have visions relying on their delusions instead, so it made things a more even ground.
Diluc didn’t jump to a duel the moment he sneaked into camp, that was far too stupid, so he stayed back and listened. He listened as they talked about how powerful their harbinger was, Lord Tartaglia, they said his name was. They said that he could switch from two blades to a bow and is faster than any human he has seen.
Dangerous is all he was, too dangerous.
By day four, Diluc brought out his plan. It was the final day Tartaglia would be nearby. He couldn’t have any of these soldiers as witnesses or help fight against him, but there was a simple solution to that.
The tent that was used as the kitchen was open, easy for someone to enter and exit, and to purhass, slip something into the pot of soup the others will be eating from.
After a good dinner, it didn’t take long for soldiers to give in to the sudden sleep one by one, leaving only Diluc remaining. His plan worked not to get to that harbinger. The tent wasn’t too far. Diluc was a little lost on the reason why the harbinger’s tent would be away from the camp, but maybe he just wants to stay out of sight of the poorer soldiers.
He stumbled through the snow, which was up to his calves, making him have to pull his legs out as he walked. It took forever in the cold for Diluc to even see the tent in the distance. It was large and probably made of better material than any of the flimsy tents at the camp.
The fire was out and probably has been out for hours. Maybe Tartaglia is asleep? That will only make things better.
The wind’s loud blowing covered the sound of Diluc’s movements there was no light coming from inside the tent. Perfect. He moved closer, opening the flap of the tent, and peeked inside. On the left side was a bed, the place was spacious from the looks of it, there was even a bed, not a cot, which makes Diluc want to sleep in the snow, but an actual large bed. Inside, under layers of comforting blankets, was a large lump where the harbinger slept.
Good.
Diluc moved into the tent, lifting his claymore up so it won’t scrape against the ground, avoiding any noise. He fixed the hood over his hair, now that the wind wasn’t blowing it off, and he was careful with his steps as he got closer and closer until he got closer to the side of the bed. He holds the claymore over his target’s body, readying himself; he needs to make sure he swings hard enough on the first swing to either kill or immobilize him. One good swing is all he needs.
He holds it as high as he can before using all his force to swing down. Before the blade even hits the blanket, a hand grabs his forearm, keeping him from using his full force. Diluc stiffened when someone sneaked up on him? He heard nothing.
“So you are the Crimson Knight. I got to say I was wondering when you would show up,” the voice came just above where Diluc’s ear was, his accent was clearly Snezhnayan. Were they a soldier trying to protect their harbinger as he slept, or was this a trap? Either way, he wasn’t going down easy.
Diluc pulled forward out of the grip, getting on the side of the bed, and turned as fast as he could to swing. The figure backed out of the blade's reach. It was hard to make them out with the only light coming from outside, and even that was poor.
But with a bit of focus, he could make out a few details, dark short hair that was spiky, he couldn’t tell what color it might be, maybe a dark blond? They were a bit taller, wearing a heavy coat that kept them warm in this cold. He had no mask covering his face like any soldier, instead, he wore a very different kind of mask placed on the side of his head. This was not a soldier by any means, this was the harbinger he was looking for.
“Nice moves, but you have to be a bit faster than that.” At lightning speed, they stood from in front of Diluc to on the bed, pulling the claymore from Diluc’s grip. Even with it out of his grip, Diluc didn’t need his claymore alone to fight.
Diluc leaped from the bed into the open area, the hood falling down the red curls he had been spending so hard to hide now let loose. He can’t let out any details on his appearance, it would only make hiding in plain sight much harder, but so he can’t let them live now, not like he was going to from the start.
He focused on his delusion as it glowed before a pair of chains shot out like jumping vipers springing right at the harbinger, glowing a dark red, almost black from the flames that consumed them. A single touch would burn anyone, and they interact well with electro elements. But he didn’t use an electro delusion at all; instead, the duo blades he held tight in his grip shifted, changing into a new shape internally before they formed into a bow.
The way he held the bow was wonky at best, but his aim was far better than Diluc would have assumed, being able to shoot right at one of the links, pinning the chain against the thick fabric of the tent. But it was hopeless, easy to pull the arrow out with a tug, the chains left burn marks on the tent.
So he doesn’t just have an electro delusion, he has a vision as well, a hydro one in fact. How could Diluc have missed that while listening to the soldiers? Now he was at a disadvantage, pyro does not mix well with hydro, his flames going down with a single sweep of his hydro blades.
“You know, for someone who has been taking down so many soldiers, you are not what I was expecting.”
Expecting? What did the harbinger expect Diluc to look like? Did he expect someone older? If so, it would be a bit ironic that the harbinger barely looked older than Diluc, maybe even younger. He was careful with his words as he threw his chains around, trying to get them around a limb.
“And why is that?”
“Well, you are far prettier than I thought you would be.” Tartaglia chuckled, dodging the chains with ease, getting a bit too close using his blades to keep the chains from getting too close. Every time the chain hit one of the hydro blades, it would make a sizzling sound as the black flames died down a bit.
Diluc nearly tripped on the carpet. The words caught him off guard. Was the harbinger doing it on purpose? Getting Diluc to lower his guard enough for an opening to appear, there was no way he was going to let that happen. He stabilized himself, forming another chain, this one instead of fighting with Tartaglia’s blades, this one went right at the stupid harbinger’s head.
But he dodged, barely missing the black flames flickering on the links. Instead of fear on his face, there was…enjoyment? Was this harbinger seriously enjoying this fight? Diluc hadn’t seen that before; most of his fights have their faces contorted in fear. This was new.
Once again, Tartaglia changes weapons; instead of a bow, it was much different. The color went from a light blue to a purple, electricity flickered around the weapon as he delusion glowed. It wasn’t a polearm, not exactly. This one had a blade on each end. Oh, this isn’t going to be as easy a fight as Diluc thought it would be. Either way, the pyro user wasn’t going down or running with his tail in-between his legs because of it.
The two fought in the tent every time Diluc hit the walls of the tent, it left more and more burn marks, holes were even forming, making the air inside colder despite the black fire, the more they went on, the more it smelled like burnt fabric and rainwater. The fight was getting nowhere, where it wasn’t a fight of who could kill who, but who could tire out with ease, and Diluc couldn’t tell if the harbinger was tricking him by acting like he was still full of energy or really was full of energy.
Diluc was the one to tire out the delusion, always zapped energy out of him, and swinging around a heavy claymore does the same after a while. He was panting as minutes passed, yet Tartaglia was still laughing, making jokes, he didn’t know Diluc’s real name, so instead he started to call him by the name of Red.
Odd, but Diluc kept forcing himself to focus on the chains to focus on swinging the blade. But at one point, someone will tire someone will lose.
And Diluc was that person.
He must have dropped his guard at some point because the next moment, Tartaglia used that odd speed of his going from in front of Diluc so close to being hit right in the chest by the blade of Diluc’s claymore, to right behind the redhead grabbing him and throwing him into the opening of the tent. He didn’t hit the snow that hard; it was pretty soft. The chains fell around him, nearly falling onto him, melting through the snow, his claymore lay in front of him so close he could reach it.
Diluc reached for it, but of course, that would be far too easy, as a boot kicked it away farther into the snow. Diluc could see Tartaglia better in the moonlight; his hair wasn’t a dark blond like he thought, but instead it was light ginger. There was one thing though that caught his attention and that was the harbinger’s eyes, they were dark blue but there was something wrong with them, despite the light from the moon they didn’t shine at all instead they seemed to suck in the light leaving them dark voids like the deepest ocean.
The harbinger bent down, Diluc prepared for a mock of some kind, instead he only smiled, was it a fake or more than a smirk? Diluc couldn’t tell at all. Tartaglia brushed the overgrown bangs from Diluc’s face.
“Finally giving up, Red?” and there was the mock.
Diluc tried to get up, but his arms hurt. The delusion wasn’t glowing anymore, the chains weren’t around him anymore, but their marks in the snow stayed. He tried to make them appear again, but it only got a flicker of a flame and nothing else.
Was this it? The end. Before he could go back home or complete his self-made mission. This can’t be it, he won’t allow it.
Diluc tried once more to get up, and Tartaglia waited patiently for him, that stupid smile on his face; he wished he could just punch it off. He finally did it, his arms hung limp at his sides, and his legs were a bit shaky.
“Finally, you're up, though I doubt you can fight like that. So just give up, you know you won’t be able to beat me like this.”
Was this it? Was he just going to finish him off or just leave Diluc alone in the snow to freeze to death? Either faith would be cruel, but nothing is below the Fatui. He can’t let it happen if Diluc can’t use his delusion and can’t reach his claymore; he has only one option left.
Diluc stragianthed up. He whinced at the pain but ignored it as best he could, but he had to do something. One hit, just one good hit to catch the other off guard, can he even do that? His legs were a bit stronger than his arms, so it was what he was going to rely on them.
“I'm not done yet,” Diluc huffed as he kicked the snow up, freeing his leg and kicking up as high as he could get, aiming for the neck, a place that would very much hurt, if not at least the chest, to knock the wind out of the harbinger.
It didn’t go as planned.
Instead of making any kind of contact with the harbinger, Tartaglia grabbed his ankle with ease, nearly making Diluc fall back into the snow. Tartaglia’s smirk widened if his eyes weren’t endless pools; they would probably have a mischievous shine to them. He found it amusing that Diluc even tried to attack again.
“Nice try, Crimson, but tonight you’re not winning this time.”
Tartaglia let go of his grip. Diluc wobbled as he tried to support himself on his own once more, but fell right back to the snow on his back. He was tired and sore and so close to just falling asleep. He feared it, he feared the idea of closing his eyes only to never wake up again, or worse, to be tortured to get any information out of him.
He can’t fall for it. He can’t close his eyes. He can’t-
Tartaglia leaned over him, watching as Diluc fought himself not to close his eyes. It was a losing battle. Tartaglia couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle, enjoying watching someone who was a legend among his soldiers, now defeated and struggling just to stay awake.
“Close your eyes, Firefly.”
Those were the last words Diluc heard, and the last thing he saw were those oddly beautiful blue eyes. All he could think about was that he prayed to Barbatos above or any archon that could hear him, just don’t let him be killed before he can get home.