Work Text:
“Abyss’ Monsters”
That was the name scrawled on the battered sign hanging above the little hidden store. The paint—once a bold blue—was now chipped and peeling, worn away by years of relentless weather. The store itself mirrored the sign’s neglect: its dark, grimy windows revealed nothing of the interior, as if the place had something to hide. Childe’s lips curled into a grimace at the absurdity of it all.
What kind of name was Abyss Monsters anyway? It sounded less like a shop and more like a band of angsty teenagers with an unhealthy obsession with Black Sabbath. Not that Childe could judge—he swore he never went through a “rebel-Heavy Metal” phase. Not one involving stolen eyeliner from his sister, black eyeshadow smeared awkwardly by his mother, and a truly mortifying resemblance to a heartbroken girl whose boyfriend, Jeremy, had left her for Vanessa, the school’s reigning drama queen.
Fuck you, Jeremy.
Childe shook off the memory, irritated. He wasn’t here for nostalgia. As one of the Fatui’s infamous 11 Harbingers, he had far more pressing concerns. The Fatui—an organization with a sprawling network of influence and wealth—might’ve earned whispers of “mafia” from outsiders, but among its members, that word was taboo. No one dared utter it, especially not in front of the Tsaritsa, the queen of Snezhnaya herself.
Yet here he was, standing outside this crumbling store on her orders, wondering why he’d been sent to a place that looked like it belonged in a horror story.
The Tsaritsa herself had instructed Tartaglia to investigate and resolve the issue at hand. The matter—a simple case of disturbing the peace—was hardly on par with declaring war or dispatching Harbingers on critical expeditions across Teyvat. Still, she had her reasons. Childe had just returned from Sumeru, where his chaotic handiwork had delighted his beloved monarch. As a reward, she granted him a two-week vacation.
A colossal miscalculation.
Any physicist—or anyone with common sense—could tell you that letting a ball of hyperactive energy loose in a glass shop was a terrible idea. Similarly, leaving a 20-year-old with the mind of a five-year-old unsupervised was a recipe for disaster. It wasn’t the first time boredom had turned Childe’s presence into a hazard. Half his platoon’s numbers had been decimated during a fit of murderous fury, mixed with equally lethal monotony.
If Childe demanded a cheeseburger with pickles, you’d better deliver a cheeseburger with pickles. There was no middle ground. It was pickles or death.
Not that Childe would ever admit—under torture or otherwise—that he’d killed men over missing pickles. Of course not. But whether he was lucid at the time? That was another matter entirely. (In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt truly lucid.)
Now, here he was. The neighborhood had lodged complaint after complaint about ear-splitting noises disturbing their nights. Local officers had fielded the reports four or five times, each to no avail. Desperate for respite, the queen had shoved Childe out of the Zapolyarny palace. She didn’t care where he went, so long as it wasn’t there. With any luck, someone would give him a task to keep him occupied while she busied herself with more pressing matters. Only the Archons knew what those were.
For Childe, this was the perfect excuse for a change of pace. Ecstatic, he sped to the scene in his faithful passenger car, plowing through six traffic cones and leaving his bumpers streaked with fresh asphalt. When he finally skidded to a stop, he found himself before the gloomy storefront with the peeling sign: Abyss Monsters.
He steeled himself, refusing to hesitate any longer. Clutching the golden handle of the old wooden door, Childe squeezed so tightly that, for a moment, he thought it might snap off in his hand. Thankfully, it held. What lay beyond the door, however, was far from what he’d expected.
What the fuck?
The infamous Abyss Monsters turned out to be… an antique toy store. Of all things. Rows of dark wooden shelves stood like sentinels, crammed with dolls, toy cars, and stuffed animals that seemed to dominate the space. The store also housed old children’s books, colorful wooden blocks, and faded rag dolls, their fabric worn from age. Above, a single chandelier cast a dim light over the room, drawing attention to a central wooden table. Arranged on it in an eerily precise circle was a collection of ceramic dolls. Each one was unsettlingly lifelike, resembling human children in a way that sent a shiver down Childe’s spine.
Behind the counter—a piece of furniture as dark and dusty as the shelves—stood a man, perhaps Childe’s age, with golden blond hair that glowed like ripe corn under the chandelier’s light. He was hunched over his work, too preoccupied to notice Childe’s entrance. In one shadowy corner of the store, an old hooded woman sat in a creaking rocking chair. She moved in slow, deliberate motions, utterly unbothered by the new arrival.
Was she even old? Childe wasn’t sure. The only indication was her long, bony fingers, adorned with sharp nails lacquered in an aggressively ripe cherry red. They gripped the rocking chair’s armrests tightly, as well as what appeared to be a swaddled infant. A few golden curls peeked from the bundle, but her murmured lullaby was unintelligible, more like a faint hum than proper words.
Childe frowned, dismissing her almost immediately. Whatever her deal was, he didn’t care.
It was then that the man behind the counter finally looked up. He abandoned whatever he’d been doing and smiled at the Harbinger—a polite, almost disarming gesture. Up close, Childe noticed his strikingly strange blue eyes, a shade so unique it seemed almost unnatural.
“Hello there,” the man greeted in a hoarse voice, his tone pleasant despite the roughness. “Looking for something in particular? Toys, perhaps?”
His accent struck Childe as foreign—not Snezhnyan, for sure. It was subtle, but something about it set the Harbinger’s ears on edge. He eyed the man warily, unsure what to make of him.
“No. None of that,” Childe replied curtly. “I’m here about the complaints. People haven’t slept in five nights, and they’re saying the noise is coming from here.”
Without waiting for a response, Childe’s gaze swept the dim room, landing instinctively on a couple sitting off to the side. The woman cradled an infant in her arms as if breastfeeding, while a little girl with short golden hair perched on her lap, her back turned to Childe. It was an oddly domestic scene that felt entirely out of place.
Before Childe could say anything, the blond man hastened to respond, his polite smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, no, no. You see, those are dolls. Simple dolls. They can’t make any noise.”
Childe’s eyes narrowed, skepticism creeping into his expression. He turned back to the old woman in the corner, still rocking her chair and humming softly to the bundle in her arms. The eerie calmness of her movements made his skin crawl, but he noticed something peculiar: the room was deathly quiet. Not a single cry, coo, or sound came from any of the “children.”
His gaze flicked back to the man behind the counter. That same polite, emotionless smile remained plastered on his face, unyielding.
“I appreciate the trouble you went through to get here, Mr. Harbinger,” the man said smoothly, gesturing toward the back of the shop. “Allow me to offer you some compensation for your wasted time. Please, follow me.”
Confused and wary, Childe hesitated. Questions whirled in his mind, but before he could voice them, the man moved to a blue door Childe hadn’t even noticed before. He opened it effortlessly, revealing a dark stairwell descending into the unknown.
“How did you—?” Childe began, but the man interrupted with a chuckle.
“Your mask, Mr. Harbinger. It gives you away.”
Childe’s hand instinctively reached for his face, brushing against the mask still strapped to the side of his head. He cursed inwardly. How had he forgotten about it? He felt a flash of embarrassment, but it quickly turned to unease. He wanted to remove the mask, but his limbs felt oddly heavy, as if his body no longer obeyed him.
Something was wrong. Every instinct screamed for him to leave, to turn and run while he still could. Yet his legs moved on their own, following the man down the staircase. His steps felt wooden, his body like a marionette pulled by unseen strings.
With every descent, the air grew heavier, the dim light from above fading into oppressive darkness. Childe tried to keep his shoulders squared, to maintain some semblance of composure, but the unease clawing at his gut only deepened.
The man, still a few paces ahead, spoke without turning back. “This way, Mr. Harbinger. We’re almost there.”
Childe clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep moving, though every step felt like it dragged him closer to something he wasn’t ready to face.
“Here we are,” the blond man said, his voice eerily calm.
Childe nearly collided with him as he stopped abruptly, watching as the man stepped to one side of the room and pulled a lever. A series of fluorescent lights buzzed to life above them, casting a sterile glow over the space.
Childe blinked, his eyes adjusting. The floor was a pristine, almost clinical white, the walls stark concrete. Rows of heavy steel bars lined the space, their contents hidden in shadow. The oppressive silence weighed on him, but the blond man smiled, his expression cool and unbothered. He motioned for Childe to follow with a gesture that was both polite and commanding.
The blond moved with elegant ease, his confidence a stark contrast to Childe’s tense, alert stance. Every muscle in Childe’s body was coiled, ready for a fight, though he wasn’t sure what he was fighting against. Then they stopped in front of a cell, and as if on cue, it lit up.
Childe froze.
Inside were two boys—or something that resembled boys. They were frozen in unnatural, rigid poses, as if time had stopped around them. Fascination and unease churned in Childe’s gut as he leaned closer to the bars.
Before he could reach out, the figures moved.
One of them shifted smoothly, almost fluidly, while the other dissolved into a pool of water, only to reform into his humanoid shape moments later. Childe’s breath caught. Ice and water—the boys embodied both elements in ways he’d never seen. They were extraordinary, their powers mesmerizing.
Yet their faces betrayed nothing. No joy, no pain, no anger—only a cold, blank curiosity as they stared at Childe. Before the water boy could approach the bars, a piercing scream shattered the silence, yanking Childe’s attention to the next cell.
His heart sank at the sight.
A little girl, her dark hair matted and uneven, was burned from head to toe. Flames flickered from her palms, the fire consuming her even as she crouched, trying desperately to shield herself. Her charred skin peeled and cracked, and her shredded clothing offered little cover. She ignored him completely, lost in her own agony, and even her tears—thick and black as coal—seemed to bring her more pain.
Pity and horror fought for dominance in Childe’s chest, but the blond man continued walking, unaffected. Reluctantly, Childe followed, each step revealing new horrors.
One cell contained a figure with blood-red hair and piercing crimson eyes. It was hard to tell if it was a boy or girl, but its towering black and gray raven wings filled the small enclosure, folding protectively over its body. The creature’s gaze was sharp, accusatory, as it stared Childe down.
Fascinated, Childe stepped closer, ignoring the warning in his gut. He reached for the bars—and immediately recoiled as a jolt of electricity coursed through him. The creature let out a soft, amused giggle, its lips curling into the faintest of smiles.
Its crimson eyes softened slightly, the intensity of its gaze diminishing, but the moment did nothing to reassure Childe. His chest heaved as he pulled his hand back, staring at the creature in a mix of awe and unease.
And still, the horrors continued.
“Please do not touch the bars, Mr. Harbinger.”
Childe ignored the warning, his gaze fixed on the pitiful figure sprawled on the cold white tile. For a full five minutes, he stood there, silently observing the boy’s labored breathing.
The child lay motionless, as if broken, his body a twisted, fragile thing. He held half of a mask to his face—likely a fragment of his own, though the other half was obscured by a strange black substance. The boy appeared lifeless at first glance, but the rise and fall of his chest was a clear sign that he was still clinging to life. His skin was marked with intricate tribal tattoos in shades of aquamarine, their vivid lines telling stories of places unknown. His clothes, smeared with the same dark substance leaking from his mouth, hinted at some unknown affliction. But it was his eye—one amber eye, glowing with an unsettling beauty—that held Childe’s attention, drawing him in with an intensity that was hard to look away from.
Nearby, a dog-like boy with a torn ear and bruises all over his body whimpered in pain, but the man who led Childe through the exhibit was quick to reassure him.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just in heat—runs at the first human he sees, but it’s harmless.”
Childe nodded absently, his eyes scanning the various other creatures locked in their cells. A jellyfish girl, her eyes dull and lifeless. An asexual doll, a star etched into the pale skin of her neck. A fox woman, wild and untamed. A young man with striking bright hair and eyes the color of the sea, their intelligence sharp, yet somehow sad. Each one more unsettling than the last, yet all were seemingly forgotten by the world that had caged them.
Tartaglia had never seen anything like this in his life.
“You can choose any of them, Mr. Harbinger,” the man said with a hint of pride in his voice. “But if I may suggest, you should see the centerpiece of my collection before you make up your mind. I’m sure you’ll find him… quite special.”
Childe nodded absently, his mind lost in the strange atmosphere of the place. They moved deeper into the facility, and as they approached a large tank, a striking merman with sea-colored hair and a single, glittering eye beckoned him closer. But before Childe could even approach, a monstrous creature with double rows of sharp teeth lunged toward him, slamming into the glass with a deafening thud. Childe recoiled, shocked, as the mermaid yelped in terror, darting away from the tank.
Hurt and startled, the merman retreated to the darkest corner of the tank, curling into a ball of soft sand. Childe watched in silence, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed, but the stranger was already gone, vanishing into the shadows beyond the glass.
A wolf child with wild eyes, a woman of thorns with wine-colored hair, a young boy with a half-skeleton face. A blonde girl with a book floating beside her, and a girl with long brown hair and white rabbit ears.
Tartaglia moved through the labyrinth of cages, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness, until he reached a flickering light at the end of the passage. There, an imposing rectangle, draped in a red velvet cloth, awaited. Childe paused for a moment, as if snapping out of a trance, his mind too clouded to form coherent thoughts. The weight of the room pressed down on him, and for a second, he found it difficult to speak.
“Why—why all this?” he finally managed, his voice strained.
Dainsleif cleared his throat and turned toward him, his expression unreadable. “Why not, Mr. Harbinger? These creatures have been either donated to me or purchased legally. None of them are in danger. They have food, shelter—a home.”
The explanation seemed logical at first, but with every word Dainsleif spoke, more questions swirled in Childe’s mind: How did he acquire them? Why? For whom? And, most pressing of all, for what purpose?
Before Childe could voice his concerns, Dainsleif’s voice rang with a new, almost palpable excitement. “But now, Lord Harbinger, let me present to you the crown jewel of my collection. The only Naga specimen in the modern world!”
The passion in his voice was unexpected, yet Childe found himself intrigued, drawn to the promise of this rare creature. Dainsleif tugged the red velvet cloth away, and Childe’s breath caught in his throat.
There, before him, stood the most stunning creature he had ever seen.
A Naga. A snake-man. But not just any Naga—this one was unlike anything Childe could have imagined.
The creature’s massive tail, five meters in length, coiled elegantly on the ground. His hair was parted neatly down the middle, the dark brown strands cascading across his face like melted chocolate. On his left side, he was the picture of otherworldly purity—albino skin so pale it almost glowed, paired with long, silvery-white hair that shimmered like moonlight. It was the kind of beauty that felt almost unnatural, as if it were crafted by the gods themselves. His right eye gleamed with a molten gold hue, brilliant as resin caught in the sunlight, like the richest cor lapis. The contrast between the Naga’s two halves was both jarring and mesmerizing, an eerie harmony of darkness and light.
Childe was left speechless. The creature’s presence overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he could not fathom the words to describe the beauty and strangeness before him. The Naga’s gaze met his—quiet, knowing, and full of something that Childe couldn’t quite decipher.
It was as if the Naga wasn’t just a creature to be owned, but a being who had lived for eons, holding secrets in the golden depths of his eyes.
Childe’s mind raced with the same questions that had circled his thoughts since he’d first entered the facility. Who was this creature? What was his purpose here? And why, above all, did he feel so drawn to him?
But Dainsleif’s voice cut through the silence, as if reading Childe’s thoughts. “Do you see now, Mr. Harbinger? This is why they call it a ‘priceless collection.’”
Childe couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Naga, captivated by the beauty of the creature that seemed to transcend everything he knew.
His eye was red, but not the fiery crimson of the winged creature that had caught Childe’s attention earlier. No, this was a more delicate red, almost pink—a soft, intoxicating hue that seemed to draw him in.
The Naga stared at him, eyes gleaming with an unsettling hunger through the thick glass that separated them. His long, tapered hands, tipped with golden claws, rested on the transparent barrier, fingers splayed as if reaching for something just out of his grasp. His tongue flicked out, a sinuous movement, licking his sharp teeth—teeth that were far worse than the mermaid’s, whose failed attempt to devour him still lingered in his mind. The very sight of those teeth made Childe’s blood rush southward, a reaction he couldn’t quite control.
The Naga’s gaze didn’t leave him, a mixture of curiosity and predatory intent in his eyes, and without any hint of surprise, Childe watched as the creature’s attention remained fixed on him, almost mesmerized by their connection. The boy’s smile was faint but undeniable, a small, wicked curl of the lips.
“So, Mr…?” Dainsleif’s voice trailed off, awaiting his response.
“Him,” Childe replied without hesitation, his voice low, as though he were speaking a truth only now coming to light. He was close enough to feel the heat radiating from the glass, a warmth that made his pulse quicken. He could almost imagine the Naga’s presence, that magnetic pull just beyond the barrier, and it stirred something deep within him.
Dainsleif smiled knowingly, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment of the unspoken agreement. “Then it’s a deal. His name is Lapis.”
The words were simple, yet they carried weight. The Naga’s eyes—those unique, hypnotic eyes—remained locked with Childe’s, unblinking, while the lifeless blue gaze of a bored twenty-year-old stared back, seemingly indifferent. Yet in Lapis’s gaze, Childe saw something deeper, something more powerful—a quiet promise of chaos and beauty intertwined. The deal was made.
Childe’s gaze remained fixed on Lapis, as though the Naga’s piercing eyes were pulling him into an unseen world. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Lapis was more than just an exhibit in Dainsleif’s collection—he was a force, a mystery, something far more captivating than any creature he had ever encountered.
Dainsleif, sensing the intensity of the moment, stepped back slightly, giving Childe space to process. “You’re drawn to him, aren’t you?” The words were soft, but they carried a knowing undertone, as if he had seen this reaction countless times before.
Childe didn’t answer right away. His fingers itched to reach out, to feel the heat from the glass that separated him from Lapis, to close the distance between them. There was an inexplicable pull, like an invisible thread connecting them, tightening with every passing second. He had never believed in things like fate or destiny, but in that moment, something in the air shifted.
Lapis’s gaze never wavered. His eyes—half a shade darker than the crimson sunset—locked with Childe’s, and there was a flicker of something in them, something ancient, primal. It was as though the Naga could see straight through him, peeling back layers of thought and intention with just a look.
“You’ve made the right choice,” Dainsleif continued, his voice more distant now, as if he were speaking to himself. “He is… exceptional. One of a kind.”
The tension in the room was palpable. Childe took a step closer, pressing his hand against the cool glass, feeling the heat from the Naga’s side of the barrier like an invitation. His mind swirled with possibilities—what did he want from Lapis? What would it cost him?
The Naga shifted slightly, his tail flicking with an almost imperceptible movement, and Childe’s breath caught. It was a small gesture, but it felt like an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked. The Naga’s presence was intoxicating, and Childe couldn’t help but smile, a dangerous, almost predatory smile.
Dainsleif watched him closely, but his attention seemed to drift elsewhere, as though he were giving Childe the space to make his final decision.
It was no longer just about acquiring a specimen for a collection. Childe realized, with a jolt, that he was no longer certain who was the predator and who was the prey. The lines between the two were blurring, and he found himself eager to learn just how deep this connection could go.
“Name your price,” Childe finally said, his voice low but steady, his eyes never leaving the Naga.
Dainsleif didn’t hesitate. “You’ve already paid, Mr. Harbinger. The deal is sealed.”
As if to mark the conclusion of their conversation, Lapis let out a soft hiss, the sound almost like a sigh, and his golden eye flashed briefly, sending a shiver down Childe’s spine. Without breaking eye contact, the Naga’s long, snake-like tongue flicked out, tracing the edge of the glass between them, as though testing the barrier that separated them.
Childe’s lips curled into a grin. This was only the beginning.
And in that moment, he knew that whatever happened next, it was going to be something unforgettable.
Childe’s heartbeat quickened as Lapis’s golden eye bore into him. The Naga’s tongue slid over the glass once more, a slow, deliberate movement, as if savoring the space between them. There was something almost languid in the way he moved, as though he wasn’t just a prisoner, but a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The air in the room felt charged, thick with an unspoken tension that made Childe’s skin prickle. He could sense the Naga’s hunger, not just for freedom, but for something more. For connection. For release.
Dainsleif cleared his throat, snapping Childe from his trance. “I suggest we finalize the arrangements, Mr. Harbinger. Lapis is quite… particular about his new owners.”
Childe didn’t turn to face Dainsleif, his attention still fixed on the Naga. The subtle curve of Lapis’s lips—a small, almost imperceptible smile—told him everything he needed to know. This wasn’t just an acquisition. This was a game, one that would draw them both in deeper than he could have ever anticipated.
“I’m not concerned about what he wants,” Childe muttered, though there was a hint of something in his voice. “I know what I want.”
Dainsleif chuckled darkly. “I’m sure you do. But be careful, Mr. Harbinger. Not every deal comes without a price.”
Childe finally tore his gaze away from the Naga, locking eyes with Dainsleif for the first time in what felt like ages. “I’m aware of the risks.”
The silence that followed was thick with anticipation. Then, almost as if on cue, Lapis moved again. His long tail flicked, knocking a small object on the floor with a soft clink, his eyes never leaving Childe’s. It was as if he were marking time, waiting for something to happen.
Childe stepped closer to the glass, his hand still resting on its surface. He could feel the heat on the other side, like a pulse, steady and rhythmic. He was so close now that he could almost imagine what it would feel like to touch Lapis, to feel the smoothness of his skin, the warmth of his presence, without the barrier in between.
For a brief moment, Childe wondered if he was making a mistake—if the price of this “deal” would be more than he was willing to pay. But that thought disappeared as quickly as it came. The pull between them was too strong. The Naga was too… captivating.
Dainsleif’s voice broke through again, this time with a note of finality. “Then it’s settled.” He gave a small bow, his smile too knowing for Childe’s liking. “Lapis is yours, Mr. Harbinger. I trust you’ll find him… to your liking.”
As if on cue, the Naga’s golden eye flashed once more, a spark of something dangerous dancing behind it. His lips parted slightly, revealing a glint of sharp teeth, and Childe couldn’t help but smile back.
“Take him.” Dainsleif said, and with that, the deal was sealed.
Childe stepped back, his eyes never leaving Lapis, who now seemed to stir in his confines, his movements more fluid, more deliberate. The snake-man’s gaze held something like a challenge, but there was also an undeniable pull—one that drew Childe in, deeper than he had expected.
As Dainsleif led him out of the room, Childe could feel the weight of the Naga’s stare following him, a thread of connection between them, impossible to ignore. The deal was done, but this was far from over.
Childe couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far more dangerous, far more thrilling. The Naga, Lapis, had already begun to mark him, and Childe wasn’t sure if he was the predator… or the prey. But it didn’t matter. He had chosen this path. And he would walk it to the end, wherever it might lead.
The door to the gallery clicked shut behind him, but Childe’s mind was already elsewhere—on the creature waiting for him on the other side, on the thrilling uncertainty of what was to come.
And with that, Childe was ready for the chaos.
The door clicked shut behind Childe with a finality that sent a chill through him. He stood in the dimly lit hallway, the echoes of his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving only the weight of his decision hanging in the air.
The world outside felt distant, as though the walls of Dainsleif’s collection had closed in around him, trapping him in a place where nothing was as it seemed. He felt the heavy pulse of something watching him, the undeniable sensation of eyes upon him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own anxiety, or if it was Lapis, still staring through the glass, the weight of that gaze already seeping into his soul.
But even as he walked away, his mind churned with dark thoughts. He had made his choice, but the price was becoming clear. Lapis wasn’t just a creature to possess. No, he was something older, something that tugged at the deepest parts of Childe’s being, whispering things that weren’t meant to be heard.
“Is this what you truly want?” he whispered to himself, though he wasn’t sure if the words were a question or a warning.
The air in the hallway grew colder, and Childe could almost hear the soft hiss of Lapis’s voice—low, like a serpent’s breath, coiling in his ear. Come back…
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He had made the deal. He would not be swayed.
But deep down, there was a seed of doubt growing, a seed planted by the Naga’s gaze, by that strange, predatory smile. A feeling that he wasn’t the one in control.
The door at the end of the hallway loomed ahead, leading to the outside world, but for some reason, it felt like a dream—a false escape. The world beyond the door was now a distant memory, a place that no longer held any meaning.
He reached the door and turned the handle, but before he could step into the unknown, something stopped him. A sharp pain bloomed in his chest, like fingers twisting into his ribs, pulling him back.
He staggered, clutching at his chest, but the pain didn’t subside. It only intensified.
It was Lapis. The Naga’s influence was already seeping into his skin, coiling around his heart like a deadly vine. Childe gasped for air, the world around him starting to blur. The edges of his vision darkened as the room seemed to close in on him. What have I done?
The walls around him shifted, melting into something else—shadows twisting and reforming into shapes he didn’t recognize. The door behind him disappeared entirely, replaced by a long, endless corridor. The air was thick with a pungent scent, like decay. The faint sound of hissing echoed through the space, and the floor seemed to pulse beneath him, as if the building itself were alive, breathing in time with his panicked breaths.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, like they were sinking into the ground. He reached out for something to hold onto, but his fingers passed through empty air. It was as though he was trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape.
And then, from the shadows, Lapis appeared. His golden eye gleamed from the darkness, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. The Naga’s tail slithered over the floor, coiling around Childe’s legs, trapping him in place.
Childe opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. Instead, he felt something sharp, cold, and terrible snake into his mind. The Naga’s voice, smooth and serpentine, filled his thoughts.
“You thought you controlled this game, didn’t you?”
Childe’s heart raced, blood pounding in his ears. His chest felt tight, suffocating. He tried to break free, but the pressure only grew, squeezing the life out of him.
Lapis was not just a creature to own. He was a force, a presence that fed on those foolish enough to think they could possess him. And now, Childe was part of his collection.
As his vision faded to black, the last thing Childe saw was the Naga’s smile, cruel and knowing, and the soft hiss that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of his being.
”Welcome to your new home, Lazurite. The Ouroboros Harbinger.“
And then, nothing.
Only darkness, cold and eternal, as the walls closed in completely.