Chapter Text
Wolves could track their prey for miles following nothing but the trail of their scent. Each branch broken underfoot, tree gouged, or spot of blood across the white snow revealed the nature of their target. By the time they could see their prey, they already knew what they would be dealing with. The most thrilling part of the hunt was that moment where the long trek became a sprint for survival.
Wind howled across the tundra, ice and snow sweeping across the landscape, tearing at anything that dared stand against the blizzard. Lights flickered in the distance, the dim glow barely visible in the harsh conditions.
Tartaglia gripped the edge of the sleigh, leaning out with excitement. A boom echoed the snow, followed by an explosion of red and yellow. Teeth bared in a grin, he could smell the ashes on his tongue.
“That’s the Owl, alright,” he said, glancing back at the soldiers with him. “Any second now, he’ll go after the main power cell-” a second explosion boomed and the dim light in front of them blinked out. Tartaglia grinned, “See? Shutting down the power to the rest of the facility. A tactical move to gain further control of the space.”
As the factory building came into view, Tartaglia didn’t wait for the sleigh to come to a halt, vaulting into the snow. Flames billowed out of the windows, dancing with the blizzard wind, the only light in the dark of night. The silhouettes of those that had escaped the inferno were back lit by the burning colors.
“Once the Owl finds what he’s looking for, his next move will be to burn what is left and use the destruction as his escape. Cover all exits and stop anyone who tries to leave. I’ll go in myself to flush the Owl out,” Tartaglia yelled to his soldiers. Looking back, he tilted his head with a mirthful smirk, “Maybe this time we’ll actually catch him.”
Trusting them to take care of the rest out here, he charged into the burning building. Smoke filled the halls, obscuring his vision and making it hard to breathe. He knew he could use his hydro Vision to clear out much of the ash and flames, but he didn’t want to give away his position quite yet.
Bodies were scattered through the hall, burned and charred, the signature lashes scorching the walls. The Owl had definitely been through here, probably making his way to the power cell by the direction the corpses came from. But Tartaglia turned the other direction, making his way toward the security offices.
He carefully made his way along the wall, hydro energy condensing in his hands to form two sabers. Each step was carefully placed, moving with a graceful skill to make sure he made no sound. One of the doors had been smashed open, the hinges melted and then thrown aside.
As he approached, he could hear papers being shuffled, a drawer slammed, the crack of metal as something snapped. Peering around the corner, Tartaglia found a man with his back turned to him. He wore all black, a singed cloak hiding his figure. Only the curled locks of blood red hair that spilled free distinguished him from the shadows of the night.
“I’d say what a surprise it is to see you here,” Tartaglia said, his grin sharpening with his focus, “but we both know this could be nothing but your work.”
The man paused. From his left hand a ruby orb flickered, glowing as a chain materialized through the air. Tartaglia barely managed to dodge the molten chain as it whipped past his head, gouging a new mark in the door’s frame.
Watching the chain snake back to its wielder’s hand, Tartaglia gave a pout, twirling his sabers. “You could at least say ‘hello’ before you attack. But I won’t hold it against you. After all, what could be a more proper greeting between two warriors?”
Burning red eyes glared at him, the rest of his face covered by a dark avian shaped mask. The Owl usually wasn’t one for talk, but recently Tartaglia had managed to get a few words out of him. The key was offering something that the Owl valued.
“Looks like you’re having trouble finding something,” Tartaglia said, leaning against the doorway. For the moment, he had the man trapped. He could take a moment to probe him for information. “Don’t suppose you found any dirt on my coworkers? Might be a useful card to keep in my back pocket.”
There was a grunt as he responded, “I almost thought you wouldn’t show up. I wouldn’t have anyone to interrogate.”
A grin spread over Tartaglia's face, “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve missed me? You could have just let me know where you were. I would have come in an instant.”
“Didn’t you say last time that hunting me down was your favorite part? I couldn’t make it that easy for you.” The Owl shifted his focus back to the files, though his grip on chain dangling from his hand remained tight, his eyes never fulling letting Tartaglia leave his field of view.
There was a giddy sort of amusement at the fact that the Owl had remembered something he had said. He tilted his head as he said, “If you come quietly, I’ll take you to the nearest Tavern and get you a glass of Fire-Water, how's that sound? We can get to know each other a bit better.”
The man’s nose twisted with repulsion, “Ugh, alcohol... I’ll pass.” He slammed another drawer shut, letting out a growl of frustration. “You wouldn’t happen to be willing to tell me where the records are for who designed these things?”
“Who designed Delusion?” Tartaglia pulled out his own Delusion, the purple gem glinting the fire light, before he gave a shrug, “I don’t have the slightest clue. If I were to guess, it might have been one of Il Dottore's projects. He’s always working on some weird experiment.”
The Owl clicked his tongue sharply, glaring at the object with disgust, “Why did I even ask, of course you don’t know anything about it... Do you even know what that thing is capable of doing?”
Tartaglia's fingers tightened around the Delusion, the power within it responding to his will as sparks started to crackle down his hand and the familiar whisper of its spirit echoing in his mind. “Never mind taking you to a tavern. How about a demonstration instead? There’s no better way to get to know someone.”
The chain in the Owl’s hand began to glow red hot. “Finally,” he muttered, “you talk too much.”
As the length of the chain whipped toward him, the electro Delusion ignited as Tartaglia’s weapons turned from the cold hydro to the crackling purple electricity. He caught the chain with blades of his saber, twisting the length around the weapon to try and yank the Owl closer with it.
“I’ve been told that’s a part of my charm,” Tartaglia told him.
The Owl snorted, “More like a weakness.” The red orb on the Owl’s hand flashed again and black flames ignited down the length of the burning chain. Fire and lightning crackled for a second before exploding.
Tartaglia was thrown back from the doorway, rolling to his feet as smoke rose from his clothes. A grin spread across his face at the first blow. It had been a clever move, using his element against him. The Owl always found a new way to surprise him. It excited him.
From the smoke of the explosion, the Owl darted out, running toward the open hall.
Spotting the embers still smoldering across the metal, Tartaglia grinned. The Owl might think himself clever but Tartaglia could do the same. Condensing the electro energy between his hand, he formed a spear, pulling his arm back and throwing it. It barely missed the Owl, embedding itself into the wall. But Tartaglia hadn’t been aiming for him.
The spear sparked and the embers of the previous whip marks ignited, flames crackling to life. The two elements exploded, throwing the Owl back across the room as the beams holding the hall up fell inward on themselves and the hallway completely collapsed.
As the redhead shoved himself to his feet, Tartaglia watched, another electro spear already ready in his hands. “I hope you have another plan of escape. Don’t you dare disappoint me now.”
The Owl scoffed, “You wish.”
In response, Tartaglia threw the spear. A rush of excitement rushed through him as it caught the man’s cloak, pinning him to the wall, before he realized it had been a distraction. The Owl had thrown the article of clothing to block his vision, slipping away further into the building’s belly.
Tartaglia wasted no time giving chase, even as the air grew cold around them. This side of the factory was dark, no flames to give light to the halls. As he stalked forward, he tilted his head, listening to the clank of footsteps against the metal flooring. He paused as they stopped, a scraping noise echoing instead.
The hall opened up into a large room. He could feel the draft of air brush across his skin, the change in how sounds echoed around him. It would be easy to light up the space with his electro, but that would make himself a glowing target to the Owl.
Something clattered to the ground, glass clinking against the metal. Cautiously Tartaglia shuffled forward until his foot hit something. He reached his hand out, feeling a smooth surface. Something warmed as his touch, a fragment of power stirring awake. Tartaglia yanked his hand back, recognizing the object for what it was, a Delusion. Not exactly surprising considering what this facility had been built for, but where could it have fallen from?
He looked up, catching a glimpse of scarlet light as something scraped against metal and he recognized the shadow of something falling toward him. Diving out of the way, there was a crash and wood splinters went flying, glass exploding apart. Tartaglia covered his face as he ignited his own Delusion, light flooding the room as he reformed his sabers from the electro energy.
Something in the air grew thicker, a dark smoke rising up from the shattered remains of the crate of Delusions that had just been smashed to pieces. As he raised his weapon higher to better illuminate the area, it was drawn toward him- toward his Delusion.
A dull hum filled the empty space in the back of his head. He gritted his teeth as whispers echoed across his mind, the remnants of the powers that fueled of those objects trying to latch onto him. His Vision flashed, a wave of hydro sweeping through the air, driving back the energy and letting him breath. What was left of the power within the Delusions began to dissipate.
Brushing himself off, Tartaglia let out a sigh, “Did you really need to do that? Pantalone is going to get on my ass if I can’t recover some of those.”
“You’re stronger than most,” the Owl’s voice echoed from the rafters. “You don’t show any sign of being corrupted by the Delusion’s spirit.”
Tartaglia laughed, trying to pinpoint his location. “I’ve got a few cards hidden up my sleeve.”
“Why not use them?”
Tracking the sound of his voice, Tartaglia threw an electro spear into the dark, but the glowing links of a chain materialized, knocking it aside. There! Tartaglia could see him just for a second.
He lunged forward, grabbing the edge of some machine and using it to throw himself upward. As the blade of his sabers took shape, the light of the electro illuminated the bird mask in front of him, surprise caught in those red eyes.
Letting himself step closer as his blades closed around his prey, he smiled, “I guess I haven’t seen a need for them.”
He saw the Owl’s hand shift, moving toward his stomach, but the man was unarmed. What could he do-
The air was punched from his lungs as the heavy pommel of a sword slammed into his gut. His footing slipped and he crashed back to the floor. Gasping as he pushed himself upright, he caught the red flash of the Owl, rolling away in time just as the man jumped down, swinging a massive claymore into the ground.
Scrambling back to his feet, Tartaglia couldn’t help the grin across his face, “Is that a sword? I don’t think I’ve seen you use that before.” His laugh turned sharp as he raised his blades. “You’ve got some cards hidden up your own sleeves, don’t you?”
The Owl just grunted, hefting the sword up for another swing. Black flames raced across the blade as it smashed down right above Tartaglia’s head.
Skipping out of the way, Tartaglia had to marvel at the weapon. It was almost four feet long, massive by any measurement. The Owl had managed to pull it out of thin air, a feat usually only possible by Vision holders, who could keep weapons stored in the imaginary space granted to them by the divine gift. Yet there was no sign of a Vision anywhere on the Owl’s person.
“If you have other options, why rely on that horrid thing?” the Owl growled at him, still glaring at the purple light on Tartaglia's hip.
Tartaglia had to laugh, “You’re one to talk. Isn’t that a Delusion on your hand? You seem to have no qualms about using it.”
“I’m willing to bear the cost of using it,” the Owl snapped back, swinging again at him.
As black flames engulfed the wall beside him, Tartaglia darted away, pushed back by the aggressive attack. But he circled around, tilting his head at the Owl response. “Then you have your answer. You’re not the only one willing to take a bit of pain for some power.”
Seeing an opening as the man’s sword slammed into the floor, Tartaglia struck. Twisting his two blades together, he spun it through the air, the weapon expanding into a spear and yanking the Owl’s feet from under him. Before he could recover, Tartaglia was on top of him, stabbing the spear into the floor next to his head. He leisurely reformed his saber, holding it to the man’s neck.
“Looks like you lose this time,” Tartaglia gloated.
The Owl didn’t flinch, keeping his gaze level as a smirk pulled at his lips. “That’s what you said last time.”
The orb on his hand glowed and five chains materialized around them. Instinctively, Tartaglia wrapped himself in protective electro energy before he realized what would happen when the burning metal touched the shield.
The force of the explosion threw them away from each other. Tartaglia slammed into a machine behind him, gasping in pain as his back hit hard metal. Though he looked somewhat dazed, the Owl rolled to his feet, fiery chains whipping around him.
As Tartaglia tried to push himself up, the burning metal caught his wrist and another chain wrapped around his body. He was yanked forward, dragged across the ground toward the Owl. Looking up into the burning red eyes, hiding behind the bird mask, he was reminded of his favorite part of these hunts.
It was still unclear which of them was the hunter and which one was the prey.
“I’ve really enjoyed these games of ours,” Tartaglia said, pulling at chains. He didn’t dare use his Delusion with so much pyro energy wrapped around his body. “It would be a shame if I had to put an end to them so soon.”
The Owl planted a foot on Tartaglia’s chest, pulling the chains tighter. “Stop bluffing, I won. I destroyed this Delusion Factory and you're at my mercy.”
Tartaglia laughed, amused by the frustrated look spreading across the man’s face. “You’re too late. This facility was already set for decommission. All the real research is being done closer to Snezhnograd.”
“Thanks for the info,” Black flames began to curl down the length chain. “I guess I’ll just have to settle for turning you to ashes.”
Hydro energy curled around Tartaglia's body, staving off the heat of flames. “Hang on, I never said I was done.” He still had one card to play, one that he knew would end this game. It almost felt like cheating to use it.
Just as he started to reach for that heretical power within him, a desperate voice echoed out from somewhere deeper in the factory. “Is someone there? Please help! I’m stuck!”
The Owl paused, looking away toward the voice. It was the moment of distraction Tartaglia needed. Hydro energy burst free from his body, snapping apart the chains. The water twisted into a long double bladed spear as he lunged forward.
Chains rattled across the floor, whipping around Tartaglia’s ankles and pulling his feet out from under him. He was thrown back into a stack of crates, empty glass shells shattering apart around him as the wood snapped under the force of his body.
“You’d use the life of one of your own people just to try and get an advantage in our fight,” the Owl grumbled, “what a lowly tactic.”
“Hey, I never said above fighting dirty,” Tartaglia said with a shrug. “And who’s fault is it that this factory is burning down again?”
The voice shouted again, “Please, anyone! I can’t get out!”
Tartaglia looked toward the cries for help and then back to the Owl. The man was staring at him emphatically. Huffing, Tartaglia let out a sigh, “Alright, truce. Let’s help this guy out and then we can get back to our fight.”
The Owl gave a nod and ran in the direction of the sound, not waiting to see if Tartaglia followed. Running to catch up, Tartaglia paused as he stared in the blackness ahead, but the Owl raised a hand, a flame igniting and lighting up the darkness.
“So you can use those flames for more than burning things,” Tartaglia said, a light teasing in his voice.
“A truce does not mean we have to talk.”
Tartaglia brushed against the man, “Since we have the chance, why not get to know each other a bit more? I want to know about that sword you’ve been hiding all this time.”
His question was answered by a molten chain whipping toward his head. Ducking away, Tartaglia laughed, giving the man his space. He could respect his terms. Tartaglia would have his victory soon enough anyway.
They stepped into a room, the ceiling partially collapsed inward, snow and icy hissing as it rushed in. The Owl paused, looking out toward the blinding blizzard.
“Are you here to help me?” There was a man pinned under the rubble, looking at them with desperation as he clawed at the beam holding him captive. “My legs are trapped.”
Circling around, the Owl took a hold of the lighter end and attempted to lift. Letting out a grunt, he glared at Tartaglia, “A little help?”
Tartaglia nodded, running over to the other side and beginning to lift. There was a creak and groan as the entire structure began to shift. The Fatuus man began to slowly pull himself free.
“Can you get it a little higher?” The Owl asked, his eyes flickering between the man and Tartaglia.
With a groan, Tartaglia strained as he tried to raise it above his waist. He could feel the rest of the rubble shudder, the delicate balance teetering.
The man pulled himself out and scrambled free. He barely managed to stand before chains wrapped around his body. Tartaglia's eyes widened but suddenly the full weight of the beam fell on him as the Owl darted away, grabbing the Fatuus and dragging him toward the open exit.
“You’re going to leave me here?” Tartaglia yelled, straining as he fought to keep the beam from dropping down on himself. "Who's playing dirty now?”
The Owl shrugged, “I have a feeling you’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to get you back for this next time,” Tartaglia promised
The man didn’t respond, but his lips seemed to quirk upward before he disappeared out into the snow.
Channeling a surge of hydro, Tartaglia blasted the beam off of himself. He took in a breath of relieved air before chasing after his quarry. Stepping out into the blinding white, Tartaglia found his soldiers with their weapons raised, surrounding the Fatuus they’d just rescued. Tartaglia let out a sigh as he figured out what the Owl had done.
“You can let him go,” Childe called. “That’s not who we're looking for.”
The men relented and Tartaglia let the weapons in hands dissipate as he looked out into the swirling snow of the blizzard, hiding the world around them. The Owl had used the survivor as a distraction so that he could slip away unnoticed. His tracks would be gone within minutes in this weather. Once again, the Owl had escaped from between his teeth.
But as Tartaglia rounded up his men, their prey lost to the storm, there was a part of him that didn’t mind that he had failed the mission assigned to him. His hunt for the Owl would continue.
He couldn’t wait for the next time their blades crossed.
_ _ _
Tartaglia danced with his hydro sabers, one of blades aiming to slice at the heel, the other cutting across the back of the knee. He could imagine the arc of the Owl’s chains, dodging around the whip’s end. Closing the distance, he buried his blades into the chest of the training dummy.
He couldn’t get the Owl out of his head, the way he fought, every move he made, that wild energy that burned within him. He wanted to peel off that mask he always wore and see the face he kept hidden. Who was the Owl? That question had lingered on his mind since the day the man caught his interest. He was no Snezhnayan, that much he could tell. The attacks had started in Nod-Krai, targeting their Fatui bases. At first it had been assumed it was one of the factions turning against them, but those that survived all describe the same thing. A devil from the fires of hell, with chains that claimed those souls deemed unworthy, and burned everything in his wake. For over a year now, the Owl had not stopped his attacks on the Fatui.
That claymore he’d used had caught him off guard. Tartaglia visualized the attacks, taking note of how slow they were, leaving plenty of openings between each swing. He pressed the hilts of his sabers together, merging the hydro of their form together and sliding his hand apart to lengthen it into his double ended spear. Keeping his distance, he skipped back and forth, avoiding the heavy strike of the claymore, before jabbing in with his spear. Whirling around, he planted the spear tip through the training dummy’s back.
The Owl kept more secrets than what his face looked like. Tartaglia could not get a read on who he was, what he was doing, why. A young man who wielded a Delusion without fear, yet hated the Fatui. He doubted the object had been plucked off a Fatui operative that he’d killed. Tartaglia had never seen a Delusion like that one within the Fatui, with the power to summon chains. The fact he could summon weapons like a Vision holder was just one more question to add to the pile.
It was rare for someone to push Tartaglia to the point where he thought he might need to transform, but the Owl deserved it. He mimed the slashes and thrusts they’d exchange, hydro and pyro swirling through the air. It would be a beautiful dance of death.
He wanted to see the Owl again, just one more time. Then he would finally put an end to this game. He’d offer his prey up to the Tsaritsa in offering and hope that perhaps... she could find use for the willful young man who smelled of ashes and dealt in blood.
The head of the training drumming went flying as Tartaglia’s sabers severed it from its body. His chest heaved as he stood alone in the training courtyard. He preferred practicing with an actual partner, but after several soldiers had been carried away in critical condition, he’d been unofficially banned from the practice. When he fought, he couldn’t hold back. It was ingrained in his bones, to hesitate was to die.
Footsteps crunched across the snow covered stone and Tartaglia recognized the breath of one his younger soldiers. “Lord Childe, I have news.”
Tartaglia nodded, letting his weapons disperse and running a hand through his hair. He was tired of waiting; it was time to get moving again. “Where was the Owl spotted this time? I’ve been waiting to see what his next move is.” Thinking about it for a moment, he grinned, “He’s been getting more bold with his targets, but he’s smart enough to keep out of Snezhnograd. I’m guessing he’ll out after one of our outposts-”
“No, there’s been no news of the Owl still,” the soldier paused, a waver of fear in their voice. “It’s... Someone’s here to see you.”
Tartaglia finally turned around, stiffening he saw the mask of a fellow harbinger.
The Doctor was one the least favorite of his comrades to see. There was something chilling about the way he watched those around him, the eyeless crow mask hiding all his expression except that thin smile of curiosity.
“Il Dottore,” Tartaglia said with a strained smile, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his body “is there something I can help you with?”
The mask titled, as if to observe the training grounds. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you would be out in the wilds, hunting down that rogue Owl. That was the mission the Tsaritsa gave you, was it not?”
Tartaglia raised an eyebrow. “At the first sign of movement, I’ll be on his heels. I’ve encountered him several times already. He won’t escape this time.”
Humming for a moment, the Doctor asked, “Your previous attempts have failed. Have you considered that this task may be beyond your current skill?”
Letting out a chuckle, Tartaglia shook his head, “I’ve been gauging his abilities. No one knows him as well as I do.”
“Is that so?” There was a small sigh as Dottore clasped his hand behind his back. “Your prediction about his next target was incorrect.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You underestimated how reckless a desperate man can be.” The mask tilted back toward him. “He took on an enemy far stronger than he was capable of handling. Even when his defeat was assured, he refused to give up. Unable to see the difference in his power until the end, he was a fool driven mad by emotions.”
Something caught in Tartaglia's throat as he understood what the Doctor meant. “What did you do?”
“He tried to attack the lab I was in. I dealt with him accordingly. The Owl is a threat to the Fatui no longer.”
“You... killed him?” There was a tremble in his voice he could not control.
A sharp laugh spilled out from under the crow mask, “Of course not. I would not waste such a valuable resource. He is a most unique specimen. The use of that prototype Delusion is one that I must get more data on.”
Relief blossomed through Tartaglia’s chest at the news the Owl wasn’t dead. He could not explain why, but he found solace in the knowledge that he had survived. He still needed to get his final fight with him after all.
“I wanted to apologize for snatching your prey out from under you,” the Doctor continued. “I’ve heard that you are always hungry for a good fight so I thought you might enjoy an invitation to the Haeresys.”
That name was one he was no stranger to. When he’d only been a soldier, multiple officers had tried to recommend him to be transferred to Haeresys, only for their request to be denied. Now, as harbinger, he understood what that place really was, an underground fighting ring that Dottore used to test his latest creations. If he wanted Tartaglia to fight there, that could only mean that he had something he wanted to test against the power of a harbinger.
What was the worst that could happen?
“Sounds exciting,” Tartaglia answered in a flat tone. “What day?”
“Tomorrow night.”
That was... abrupt, but Tartaglia shrugged, “Sure.” With his hunt for the Owl called off, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
A smile curled beneath the Doctor’s mask, “I look forward to seeing your performance.”
Tartaglia nodded, but as the harbinger left, a strange anxiety lingered in his chest. He should have been relieved to hear that the Owl had been stopped, but for some reason this outcome wasn’t satisfying. He hadn’t expected for the Owl to go down while he wasn’t there. He had wanted to... see him one last time.