My Archaic Jewel [Childe X Zhongli] (Fanfic)

Chapter IX: Wrath of the Rook

Grand pillars of blazing sunlight fried our Harbinger like a barbeque, his Hydro element proving to be useless against the infernal might of mother nature. The rich boy was forced into recovery shortly after taking the savage beating from the Yaksha. Xiao demonstrated the ruthless power of the Adepti, leaving Childe's mind cowering from the thought of unadulterated Anemo winged-spears throwing him around.

Our boy had been through real shit to fix his broken relationship with the elusive and enraged Zhongli. Barely any drive left in him to move, Childe dragged each of his feet against the earth– the boy's undying will to find the man he loved was all that's left. The reason why he hasn't given up is that there is a distinct difference between surrender and defeat. You might catch Childe defeated, but never surrendering.

This little squabble meant nothing in the face of Tartaglia, the man with balls of unbreakable steel. Despite having to resort to flight when the great Yaksha hunted him like a furious assassin, years of dwelling in the abyss hardened his spirit just to keep pressing forth. Becoming the greatest is no easy task after all.

To protect those he valued most, absolute strength was the only way to do exactly that.

The Harbinger walked on for long hours, momentarily wondering to himself, "What the hell am I doing?", "Am I a fucking idiot?" and "Is this why I'm single?"

Suddenly, the ground caved in beneath him and he fell straight down; the light growing darker and darker. With an immediate response from his body, he landed on his feet perfectly but the long fall jacked his knees a little.

The darkness surrounding him reacted to his presence as amber-tinted lights began lighting up the cavern.

"Fuck sakes...can't catch a break now can I, eh?"

When the lights finally brightened the rock walls, a dominant presence filled every part of the cave– Childe suddenly immobilised at the unexpected appearance of the man in the coat.

"Persistent, aren't you?"

"More than that, actually."

He tried laughing off the sudden seriousness of the current circumstance that he's in, though the sinking feeling that clawed away at his chest grew more intense, along with the piercing gaze of the amber-eyed man.

"I've evaded you for long enough. Deciding not to finish you off the moment I read the note was a mercy I didn't think I had in me. I've put all the slaughter I've done in the past behind me. Yet, my skin itches at the sight of you taking another breath."

At this point, both of them were already circling each other, the deafening scraping sound of Zhongli's glowing polearm encapsulated his festering rage within. Tartaglia already noticed him expressing his pent up aggression, but retaliation would be undesirable when the end goal was to settle the problem, not feed more into the conflict.

"You won't be itching any longer. It'd be foolish to pretend that I came here to further my mission to claim the Gnosis. I'm here to claim something more important."

"Your death, preferably?"

The scraping sound grew even louder.

"Of course not, I won't taste death before I become the strongest in all of Teyvat!"

"Then what could be more desirable than that?"

"You."

The scraping stopped. So did both of their footsteps.

"After all this time. You're resilient in your trickery. It almost makes me sick."

"I wouldn't call it trickery if I'm being genuine."