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“Gone...? Is that so...?”
Upon receiving the news from his subordinates, Pantalone merely smiled, as he often would. Truth be told, he could actually barely contain a chuckle in that moment, but chose to show some restraint so as not to frighten the staff. According to some, his expressions could at times be somewhat... unnerving, if not vastly inappropriate. Alas, judging by the terror painted on the Fatuus’ pallid face as he excused himself out of the room, his consideration had been in vain.
Did they expect him to throw himself to his knees and weep?
My, my, he thought to himself – the conversations had across the different Fatui dormitories over the past few months must’ve been bustling with gossip worthy of the front pages of Fontainian lifestyle magazines. His fellow Harbingers’ actions had certainly made sure of that. Long gone was the art of subtlety, it seemed...
‘Gone’...
He sincerely doubted that.
Dottore was much like a Sumerian boomerang he’d seen the rangers use: no matter how far and hard you flung it, it would eventually come back. In this case, that stubborn lunatic of a man would crawl out even from the depths of the Abyss itself as long as his drive hadn’t been killed, and it seemed like nothing and nobody was capable of achieving that. Not that escaping the Abyss was particularly hard – one only needed to take a single glance upon that reckless brat, Tartaglia.
To think even such thoughtless, hotheaded fools were granted Visions in today’s world... had the gods forsaken all standards? Or... perhaps it was fools they had been looking for from the very beginning?
Pantalone touched his temple, sweeping some loose hair aside; his thoughts were meandering.
If it really was true, if Dottore had perished for good this time... well, it was only to be expected. It only made the most sense with how utterly absurd his most recent plan was. He would know – he was one of the select few in the know about it.
To build a man-made god from scratch in order to breach the gap created by the heavens was, admittedly, an admirable aspiration, at least in Pantalone’s eyes. There were hardly any more impertinent acts of blasphemy a single sinner could commit than showing the Archons how easily replaceable they were, even by something as hideous and mundane as a false idol, an effigy created by the lowly subjects they so despised. The gods thought of them, humans, as disposable – mere short-lived fruit flies whose only use could be found in worship and amusement. It was quite a feat to undertake to try and prove that said ‘flies’ no longer feared them, and were in fact able to dethrone them just as easily.
Yes, Pantalone respected that, much as the word ‘easily’ might’ve been a bit of an understatement, given the current situation.
To try and turn himself into a god, on the other hand...
He’d never been overly fond of that idea, and he’d voiced his protests rather prominently in the past. In Pantalone’s mind, it crossed a certain invisible line: after all, how was such a forceful ascension any different from the supposed purpose of Visions? They, the Vision bearers – they were the chosen ones, the doubtful ‘heroes’ carefully selected by Celestia for reasons unknown and blessed with the opportunity to someday join their ranks. Or, so the legends said...
Either way, what Dottore had been doing was more or less the same concept on paper, only with extra steps taken. Of course, a narcissist like him was never going to share his power with anybody – a true moniker of a god, some would say – but if the divine power was not to reach the common man, then was its goal even still to humble the arrogant gods by placing an equal mark between them and their subjects? To Pantalone, it seemed like the opposite; like by turning himself into a false god Dottore had become nothing more but a mere obstacle, an annoyance, like many other fallen contenders to The Seven’s divine thrones. He’d equaled himself to the very gods the two of them sought to humiliate, thus humiliating himself in the process, too.
But despite everything, Pantalone remained by his side as his ally and friend... why?
He liked to tell himself it was to witness the ending to this tale, as though it was one of Liyue’s lengthy operas, from the seat with the best view, albeit there were days Pantalone himself couldn’t tell how much truth there was to it. Perhaps at the end of the day, he still believed in him somewhat – or wanted to, anyway – and hoped Dottore to avenge all the wicked madmen who’d been slighted in the past.
Although many disdained him for it, Pantalone was personally fond of Dottore, yes. Granted, it was hardly due to the man's loyalty. He was far too disillusioned to imagine any semblance of genuine affection between them or, at the very least, what regular people would consider as such.
There was no mistake to be made – Dottore was outright misanthropic.
Thing was, his hatred for humanity went beyond personal biases; in fact, it was the closest to the pure and distilled idea of 'equality' Pantalone had ever witnessed in his life.
Dottore thought of everyone as equally low – lower than him, that is – and didn't differentiate based on factors such as wealth, origins, or status. Hell, by that point, even intellect didn't matter – he'd been burned placing his hopes in others before and had since learned to trust nobody's mind but his own, deranged as it was.
The only thing that mattered to Dottore was of how much use a person could be to him – once there was none, he lost his interest.
Maybe... maybe that was the true reason as to why he still followed him.
Suddenly feeling irritated for seemingly no reason, Pantalone abandoned his office and began to quickly make his way towards the eastern wing of his residence.
The ‘treasury’. One of many, naturally, though that particular vault was rather homely and... peculiar in its nature.
It wasn’t the first time he’d received the news of Dottore’s ‘passing’. His friend was no stranger to suicide, likely because he thought nobody else was worthy of claiming his life. No longer than a few years prior, it was a god who’d tried to humiliate him in turn by making him delete all of the curious ‘segments’.
Though he’d never admit it to Dottore’s face, Pantalone missed them sometimes. They were quite efficient at managing work tasks, but on top of it, their ruckus could admittedly be amusing at times. A wide selection of devoted 'doctors' to choose from... did wonders to spice up his bedroom life, too.
Indeed, the ‘segments’ certainly didn’t lack their uses. That might’ve been a potential explanation for the room’s existence. Another was, well... offerings from the dearly departed could’ve been considered unique ‘treasures’ in their own right. Pantalone had always been a bit partial to those.
And, for some reason, despite their many jarring differences, Dottore’s segments all had seemingly one thing in common: they insisted on bringing Pantalone ‘gifts’.
He’d never learned why, as at least half of them would deny it upon being questioned. The one that remained – ‘Omega’, that is – would sometimes try and claim they were expressions of friendship and gratitude for their fruitful collaboration over the years, though one could hardly take anything that came out of that man’s mouth as genuine.
As such, the true answer remained unknown.
They reminded Pantalone of cats bringing their owners dead mice, or perhaps more accurately: crows. Back in Liyue, an old wives’ tale said that if a person helped a crow once, it would become so grateful that not only would it bring its savior occasional shiny trinkets, it would also tell its kin as well as descendants to do the same.
It was, therefore, quite the apt comparison, baffling as it was.
As he entered the room, Pantalone made sure to lock the door behind him, not wishing to be disturbed.
Once a bedroom that had since been transformed, the room was relatively small for the size of the collection it housed; the windows had been covered by thick, velvet curtains in a dark shade of midnight blue, whilst the floor was decorated with hand-woven Sumerian rugs. Come to think of it, these too might’ve been a gift at some point, Pantalone pondered.
Being there would always evoke a bizarre emotion – mostly aggravation. Albeit he wished he were above it, ever since the segments’ decimation, Pantalone had been prone to the slightest tinge of nostalgia, too.
With no set direction in mind, he began to wander between the numerous shelves and display cases.
Truth be told, many of these ‘offerings’ had been fairly mundane and had simply ended up there because he couldn’t find a better spot for them, though there were also instances when he simply didn’t wish to be reminded of Dottore’s existence, either. Some... most of them, could also not be readily shown in public.
For example, one of the walls donned a vast and varied ensemble of leather harnesses that were by no means intended for a pet... though in hindsight, maybe they were indeed, Pantalone thought to himself, and couldn’t help but smirk. Above all, Dottore loved to provoke; as such, items like these were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to obscenity. As it happened, however, Pantalone wasn’t exactly in the mood to explore those that day.
He really did miss having more than one of them to go around, though...
Thankfully, the chamber wasn’t lacking in more traditionally valuable possessions, either. As he passed his first corner, Pantalone’s eyes were drawn to a large, marble pedestal, atop which stood a stone head whose face was twisted in a painful grimace.
The head of a Remurian citizen.
If he recalled correctly, this one had been extracted from the depths of Fontainian waters long before the flood. He wasn’t sure whether Dottore himself had ever mentioned it, but Pantalone suspected it had originally been a present from Crucabena, given as an amiable gesture during the time the two shared their morbid little ‘deal’. Once the segment who was in charge of it could no longer find a use for it, it ended up in his hands, instead.
Pantalone’s fingers trailed down the face of agony, feeling its rugged edges until his palm wrapped around the statue’s cheek, and his thumb traced its lips.
Whoever he was, he must’ve been quite the handsome man in his prime, he thought. A man turned into stone... a nightmarish fate, yet it sounded nothing short of some sort of twisted punishment Rex Lapis would think of in order to set an example.
The more he looked at the bust, the more its features began to blur, slowly growing to resemble that of his ‘late’ friend...
Pantalone shuddered, quickly moving on.
Not too far from the bust was another interesting exhibit hidden within a glass case: a small collection of Inazuman paintings – if they could be called such – a certain ‘Escher’ had brought him as a souvenir from his travels. What made them unique was the fact that they’d been created by miners who’d been affected by Tatarigami. A wonderfully raw display of madness, documenting the very moment it had begun to consume the mind irreparably, gradually taking over like a foreign parasite...
The paintings were chaotic, senseless, often splattered with blood and other bodily fluids. A few of the less remarkable ones displayed nothing but seemingly random blotches of ink. The more interesting ones involved figures of inhuman proportions meeting their doom in the poisoned rivers of purple, falling into the mythical Orobashi’s maws, or gathering around the infamous Mikage Furnace as though they were trying to worship it or beg it for mercy it couldn’t grant.
These were... unprecedented to say the least. Frankly, Pantalone had only decided to take them in due to the rare human condition they’d managed to capture, actively avoiding judging their aesthetics, of which Dottore was far more fond of. Sometimes, the former wondered whether he could see something more in them, something that he couldn’t. If his friend had any interest in painting himself, would his creations look anything like these...?
An accurate portrayal of a disturbed mind... whenever Dottore thought of his grand schemes, of... him... were the thoughts swirling inside his head as scattered and unnerving as these...?
Realizing he’d been leaning on the glass, Pantalone withdrew, choosing to proceed further down the so–called ‘memory lane’.
According to said memory, the items on the right side of the room should’ve been organized chronologically. Seeing the very first one sparked up a kind of excitement within his heart.
Unlike most of the ‘gifts’ contained within the room, this large fragment of a Ruin Guard’s core did not remain intact and was merely a symbolic keepsake sampled from the original, though it was not due to the lack of Pantalone’s own diligence.
It was more so that the original core... was larger than the room itself.
...
“What in the world am I to do with this?!” Pantalone exclaimed in a slightly unusual display of impatience. “You foolish brat... have you lost your mind for good this time?”
The segment, a bright-eyed youth most similar to the Akademiya student that had once called himself 'Zandik', scoffed and crossed his arms.
“Tsk, how typical... and here I thought an old man like yourself would have a sliver of appreciation for a priceless – yes, priceless – ancient treasure,” He repeated as though his fellow speaker was hard of hearing, and pointed towards the massive core again, “You know, considering you and this thing should be about the same age. Looks like I was mistaken, yet again.”
Pantalone smiled sweetly, feeling a vein pulsate in his temple.
“Excuse me, what did you say about my age...? I believe I must've misheard you...”
“I said that you’re an old coot. And so is this piece of junk!” The ‘Zandik’ segment said, thrice as loud this time, then suddenly turned and kicked the core; only the most observant would've been able to notice the slightest wince on his face as he did so.
Pantalone let out a deep sigh, thinking it wasn't worth getting into another argument with this particular version of him. Something about buzzing hormones, or what was it...
“Didn't you just say it was priceless?” He retorted, raising his brows.
“Naturally, seeing as technically, nobody has ever dared to put a price on it! But even if it turns out that it is unfathomably expensive, I'll be the one to learn about it first. I didn't haul this thing from the desert to be met with ignorance from an uncultured simpleton such as yourself. Gods, will I ever not be surrounded by idiots...?” The youth looked into the sky, rolling his eyes much like a teenager and not the twenty–something he was supposed to represent.
“Then... why’d you offer it to me in the first place?”
“W-Well, b-because...” Zandik stuttered for perhaps the first time since Pantalone had met his original form, which instantly piqued the latter’s attention. His red eyes widened like that of cornered prey before he whipped away. “T-That’s no longer of any importance! Just because ‘he’ is fond of you doesn’t mean I must be also. Hmph. So, are you going to take it or not? Make up your mind and stop wasting my precious time, old man...”
If he didn’t know the man this youth was a fragment of, he might’ve even found his obnoxious behavior oddly endearing, Pantalone thought to himself before approaching the core and placing his hand against it. The crevices still contained some residue of the red desert sand.
This had to have been the largest ‘gift’ yet, and honestly, quite impressive for it. As ridiculous as it was, it was hard to refuse it.
“I will. You have my thanks for this, um... lovely, worthless piece of ‘junk’.” Pantalone decided, deriving only the slightest satisfaction from teasing the frenzied youth.
“Really...? Huh. So you do have an eye for greatness after all. That’s promising.” Somewhat flustered yet trying to hide it, Zandik reluctantly joined him next to the core.
“So they say...” Pantalone mused, and then on pure whim, he reached out to take hold of Zandik’s chin.
...
The expression on his youthful face at that moment... it was far more priceless of a sight than whatever value the ancient mechanical parts had.
That arrogant, careless, yet somewhat naïve Dottore... he had always been one of his favorite segments. He brought him plenty of amusement, seeing as he’d not yet mastered the art of concealing any and all thoughts and feelings. His nerve and unabashed sincerity were in some way debilitating. He’d always try and outdo himself with increasingly garish, ‘grand’ gifts. Ah, thinking of him always brought a smile to Pantalone’s face.
It was a pity he had to go.
Ba–dum, ba–dum, ba–dum...
“Hm...?”
Shame to admit as it was, for a brief moment, Pantalone actually got himself fooled by the booming sound of a heartbeat echoing throughout the room. His hand instinctively travelled to his chest, but very quickly realized he wasn’t the source of the noise.
No, it was... that curious... ‘thing’.
Pantalone approached the next exhibit, carefully peering into the large, liquid-filled jar containing an engorged human heart that, despite having been removed from its original owner – obviously – continued to beat all on its own. Appearing entirely regular otherwise, here and there some bluish-purple spots could be seen.
His nose scrunched up. As far as Dottore’s ‘gifts’ went, this one was particularly revolting, as was the segment he’d received it from. If he remembered correctly, there was only one argument that’d convinced him to keep it.
...
“Heavens above, keep this thing away from me or so help me.” Pantalone hissed in disgust, hurriedly withdrawing from the beating heart the other held in his still bloodstained hand.
Dottore – that Dottore – chuckled.
“Awh, don't be like that, Panty! I went ahead and served my heart on a platter for you, and this is the treatment I get?” He let out quite the theatrical sigh before, much to his friend's relief, putting the heart down on the table. “Damned if you do, damned if you don't. God forbid a man wants to be romantic in this day and age.”
“I don't believe the word 'romantic' has ever existed in your vocabulary, Dottore. Once it does, that's how I’ll know something has finally gone wrong with the segmenting process. And for the millionth time, do not call me that.” He complained but, truth be told, he couldn't contain his own morbid curiosity. This Dottore rarely cared about anything other than his inhumane research and its subjects; if he'd called him into his lab for this thing, then it must've been more important than it appeared at first glance. “So... what is it, exactly?”
“Why, it's my very own heart, bleeding out for you whilst you're away, my lovely friend.”
“Be serious, or I'll leave.”
Dottore groaned, his salesman's grin instantly fading into a disappointed grimace.
“Ugh, such a killjoy you are, Panty. But, fine, I shan't stand in the way of scientific wonder. This, my friend, is one of my test subjects' heart that I'd infused with god remains.”
“What of it?” He asked, cautiously leaning over the table.
“It regenerates! Over and over! Here, allow me to demonstrate—“ Before the other could protest in any manner, Dottore suddenly pulled a scalpel out of his lab coat’s pocket and using his full force, violently stabbed into the pulsating organ, causing a thick, dark liquid to gush out of it; its stray droplets had even made their way onto Pantalone’s face.
He was unfazed; he’d seen worse.
A couple of seconds later, Dottore pulled the scalpel out, and then, before their very eyes, the gash he’d created miraculously closed, as if he heart was made of foam.
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it?” Dottore’s red eyes lit up with excitement, if that was even possible, given that his pupils were already the size of pinheads. “I thought it’d make a neat little fidget toy to alleviate your stress at work. With this, you could imagine stabbing a real god over and over again... or whatever other unfortunate soul crosses your path.”
“A real god, huh...?” Pantalone pondered, his mind instantly going to Rex Lapis himself. “Yes, indeed. I do think I could find a use for it in that case.”
“Haha! See, I knew you’d like it, Panty.” After giving his hands a quick wipe against the sides of his coat, Dottore suddenly wrapped one of his arms around Pantalone’s waist, pulling him closer and leaning in before whispering: “You’ve always been far more petty than the front you put on... and they say nothing makes a man more attractive than spite.”
“Well, well. It appears that insane research of yours might prove worthwhile yet.” He said and fixed the madman’s bowtie before finally placing a kiss on the side of his face that wasn’t covered by a mask.
...
No, despite what it might've seemed like on the surface, he didn't much miss that one after he was gone. He was far too extreme in his views, not to mention the sadistic thrill he'd get out of his stupidly expensive experiments...
His excessive displays of 'affection'... they felt neurotic at best, nothing more than that. At least with the 'Omega', Pantalone could always know what to expect – to some extent, anyway. That said, he was willing to admit, it flattered him greatly whenever the mad scientist deemed his attention more important than his 'invaluable' work. And there had been a point when Pantalone truly believed him, too...
As he neared the end of the labyrinthine rows of displays, he stopped.
Why was he in that room in the first place...?
What were any of these doubtful 'treasures' to someone of his standing?
His wealth was immeasurable, and Dottore was already... reportedly... 'gone'.
With the corner of his eye, Pantalone reluctantly glanced towards the last exhibit – a silver, serenely glowing orb. It was the last gift he'd received from Dottore before his debatably untimely passing.
...
“What is it this time?” Pantalone asked, carefully examining the object he held above his head. He could've thought of several more appropriate occasions to give a gift than whilst the two of them lay in bed post coitus, but he was intrigued nevertheless. The orb was seemingly made out of rock, though not nearly as heavy as it seemed. At first glance, it somewhat resembled Moonfall Silver from Nod Krai, only its surface was more rugged and porous, and its luster was... unlike anything Pantalone had ever seen, and he'd seen a lot of shiny things in his day.
“A fragment of the Frost Moon.” Dottore said without looking at him, busy putting his shirt back on. His voice sounded rather disinterested, distant.
He'd been distant as of late, too.
At first, Pantalone thought he might've misheard him; he quickly sat back up.
“The genuine article?” He glanced at the deceptively innocuous orb again. “That can't be... isn't it hidden beyond the borders of Teyvat...?”
“That it is. You've a keen eye as always, my friend.” The man spared him a glance over his shoulder, smirking, even though his eyes remained frigid. “As it happens, it just fit into my pocket, so I thought I may as well bring you a souvenir.”
“Incredible.” Pantalone muttered under his breath, unsure whether he was referring to the gift itself or the absurdity of the man he'd gotten it from. It was with great difficulty that he finally peeled himself away from it, and only because he’d noticed the other was about to head out without a word. “Will you be gone for long this time?”
“Provided that I succeed, which I most certainly will—“ He said with the usual dose of arrogant confidence, “We may not ever meet again. Once I've ascended to godhood, it's doubtful I'll find any need to answer before Her Majesty again, and I'll definitely have more important matters to oversee.”
“Oh.”
Pantalone froze up. This was news to him, though... Perhaps this was the only response he could've ever hoped for. It was only on him and his own naïve foolishness that he'd never stopped to consider it.
What lay at the end of the path to godhood...?
Disregard for the inconsequential, Visionless humans, of course. The 'fruit flies' of this world.
Such was the fate of all deities.
His teeth sank into his lip, drawing blood.
“To be completely honest with you, out of respect for our years of mutual cooperation... after I've reached my goal, there may not even be a world to return to, at least not in the sense understood by the simple-minded.” Dottore continued, no longer looking his way. He finished off his look by donning his signature beak-like mask, then snuck a glance into the mirror by the door. “Don't worry, I haven't at all forgotten that I couldn't have done any of this without your funding. Rest assured, Pantalone, if I find myself able to, I'll reward you handsomely.”
It was quite the unusual promise, the other thought. These days, Dottore’s primary segment rarely resorted to such earnest gestures, gratitude or not – even stranger was that, if the haunting things he spoke of were to come true, he’d never get an opportunity to receive anything in return, and thus continue the cycle.
A ‘reward’...
What would he even do? Make Pantalone sit atop a heavenly throne by his side...?
It was hard not to scoff at that.
“I shall... await news from Nod Krai, in that case.” He muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Now, now, don’t be so sentimental. If you ever start to miss me, all you must do is look up at the Moon above.” Dottore then said, his voice oozing with irony. It had to have been. There was no way something like that would’ve come out of him in earnest... right? “Well, then, I’ll be on my way... Goodbye, Pantalone.”
...
Feeling a sudden, inexplicable bout of anger, Pantalone passed the moon fragment hastily, making way for the door, where he was left to yank at the doorknob that wouldn’t budge. Hissing as he struggled to fit the key inside the door he’d previously locked himself, he near clawed his way out before finally storming out of the vault.
He walked as fast as a man could without resorting to running, the heels of his boots clicking ominously across the marble halls. His startled subordinates scattered like flies, bolting out of his path at the slightest glimpse of his face. Some of the bolder ones attempted to greet him or excuse themselves; some might’ve even had inquiries. He ignored all of their voices.
Quite frankly, Pantalone wasn’t entirely sure where exactly he was headed. He was feeling slightly nauseous and his head had begun to ache with a sharp, stabbing pain. The tips of his fingers were tingling restlessly, perhaps longing for a neck to take hold of and strangle to death.
Eventually though, he’d made it onto one of the balconies. There, Snezhnaya’s frosty evening air enveloped his face, allowing his mind and body to gradually cool down.
He took a deep breath, allowing it to fill his lungs, too.
Damned be that mad bastard, he thought, nigh instantly feeling a bitter taste in his mouth.
It took a few minutes, maybe an hour, before he finally dared to gaze upon Teyvat’s bright, newly unified Moon.
Now, if that fool truly wanted to impress him, he thought, unable to rid himself of a strange heaviness in his chest, there was still... one more ‘gift’ that he could try and bring him.
Because surely, he wasn’t truly ‘gone’ this time, was he...?
Alas, Pantalone knew no human could ever come to control a wild crow’s flight.