Chapter Text
“Do you mean to kill me?”
Childe, flanked by two Abyss Lectors, was pushed onto his knees before a throne that seemed more to him like a monolith in its sheer height. The woman that sat upon it appeared dwarf-like in comparison; her presence almost diminutive against the spectacle of the throne. Though, he did suppose it was her throne. Perhaps there was a story to that. One he doubted he’d ever hear.
“I do not,” said the woman. “But if I did, and I told you that I did, what would that change?”
Two echoing clicks—the woman had left her throne and stood to peer down at Childe. It was hard to tell from his place on the ground with an Abyss Lector’s hand keeping his face firmly downturned, but he did think she was a bit…short. Somehow, this did not detract from the power she seemed to emanate— literally. The woman was glowing and golden, from her hair to her eyes down to the metallic accents on her heels. Without the throne to detract from her atmosphere, Childe knew she demanded attention wherever she went simply by being there. After all, as a servant of the Tsaritsa, it’d be pathetic if he could not know a powerful woman when she stood before him.
The difference, however, was that he was not loyal to the golden woman like he was to Her Majesty. And while the Tsaritsa demanded nothing that he could not find in himself to give, the way this woman eyed him like a lamb for the slaughter told him everything he needed to know.
“It would change nothing,” the woman finished for him. Staccato beats followed the path of her steps towards him. “I’m sure you know this well enough. After all, as a Fatui Harbinger, you’ve had the same question posed to you many times. Why do you ask it now?”
“Isn’t it human to fear for your life?” Childe said, the rough edge to his voice making it sound almost like a plea. “Fear is a powerful driver.”
“It is,” said the woman. She frowned. “But you’re not all human, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
A scathing chuckle. “Then beg.”
With the ever-present hand of the Abyss Lector, Childe did not see her summon her sword. But he felt it, cold and sharp against his arm. Not quite cutting into him, but close enough to get his blood rushing, raw with energy.
“You’re dismissed,” The woman commanded the Lectors. The pressure left the back of his head and he could finally meet her eyes. He wondered how many flies had gotten trapped in their amber.
After the bang of the door signaled the departure of the Lectors, the woman snarled at Childe, “You have something that does not belong to you.”
“I have lots of things that don’t belong to me,” Childe quipped. “I’m a Harbinger. It comes with the territory. You’ll have to be more specific.”
At this, she grimaced. Suddenly, he was yanked forward by a force on the collar of his jacket.
“I’ll bet you’re a riot back in Teyvat,” the woman hissed in his ear. “But I’ll do you a favor and teach you an important lesson about the Abyss.”
“If you’re after what I think you are, I’m sure you’ll find I don’t require any lessons about—AGH!” Childe’s retort was cut short by a fiery, piercing slice along the length of his upper arm. He watched as thick blood seeped out of the cut, and grit his teeth with every bout of stinging pain that struck him.
“ Archons… ,” He growled. “You bitch . That’s hardly fair, getting the first hit in while I’m still bound and kneeling. I heard you were a warrior, Abyss Princess. Where’s your honor?”
“Where’s yours?!” She roared. “You fight my people using a power, a legacy that belongs to them and their ancestors, before that traitorous swine simply handed it over to a little boy who she taught to wave around a sword. A pathetic child that stumbled its way into the Abyss. And made it out alive on a fluke.
“You’ve heard of me, Harbinger?” The Abyss Princess began to circle around Childe, her sword dragging and scraping and screaming along the rocky floor as she walked. The next part she whispered harshly, like she was telling a secret in a crowded room. “Well I’ve heard of you. I know why you call yourself Tartaglia. I know why you lost that fight with my brother. I know why sometimes, when the Tsaritsa chooses you as Executioner, you doubt your loyalty, if only for a second. I know why you wield a power that by nature does not belong in your flimsy mortal body.
“You’re weak , Ajax. You always have been.” Her heel dug into his back with such force that his face was slammed against the ground. Childe spat out blood. “That’s why you ran from home at fourteen. That’s why you fell in the Abyss. That’s why you’re obsessed with being the strongest. That’s why you’re a Harbinger. It’s all a façade. It’s a mask you wear.”
She was lying. He knew she was, she had to be. Childe was strong without the Foul Legacy. He trained every day, endlessly searching for another worthy sparring partner. He was dedicated to his power. The Abyss Princess was a tactical liar.
And yet, among the ocean of her lies, Childe was stung with a salty truth. He hadn’t always been physically strong. And deep down, he began to wonder where his thirst for power stemmed from, really stemmed from. Yes, the Foul Legacy absolutely played a part in his thirst for blood, but there was something else that drove him. Something fragile. Something human.
Something…weak.
The foot on his back disappeared, and achingly he was able to sit upright again. His legs had gone numb from being folded underneath him amidst all the abuse; mild in comparison to other injuries he had bore (and inflicted), but the Abyss Princess seemed to have a way with torture.
Childe searched desperately for something, anything to respond with. Even agreement. But his mind ached and his head pounded and Tsaritsa how his arm burned. He couldn’t gain traction on a single thought, and whenever he tried to speak, the sound ripped from his throat in a cough. Tartaglia, reduced to a sniveling, tragic pile of flesh and organs on the floor. How comedic.
The Abyss Princess waved her hand and her sword dissipated with the motion. Childe watched her return to her throne with another set of click click -ing of her heels. Once more, it’s size overtook her. She sighed:
“I know you must think me cruel,” She said. “And I will admit that I have a dangerous temper. But I have feelings. I’m not made of stone.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering. “You may even find I’m not too different from your Tsaritsa.”
A flush of rage came across his face at the very notion that she was anything like Her Majesty. But after that arrived the clarity that told him…she wasn’t wrong. For all his devotion, the Tsaritsa had gone to lengths that even Tartaglia could not fathom. It was as the Abyss Princess had told him earlier: Sometimes, in the farthest depths of his mind, he finds his faith falter.
“So I’ll give you a choice, Harbinger.” The Abyss Princess declared. “You may flee back to your Tsaritsa after I remove from you the power you stole the same way I brought you here,” Childe shuddered at the memory. His body had simply been…seized. It was out of his control without warning. He slipped out of consciousness, and the next thing he knew he was in chains.
“Or?” Childe finally managed to croak out.
She smiled, and it was a dainty, terrible thing.
“Or, you can keep the Foul Legacy, but you must renounce your loyalty to the Tsaritsa,” Her eyes glimmered, and her slender fingers came to cup her chin. “And serve under me.”