Gnaw (part 1)

Gnaw (part 1)

Contains: Body Horror, Blood, Violence

You had fallen to Teyvat some time ago, pulled down from the sky by a brilliant platinum star, the elements gently beckoning for you, all of them trying to prove their land the most suitable for your descent.

"Welcome back, Sea-shaper," Hydro murmurs, their voice the babbling of streams and the roar of the angry sea all at once. "Fontaine has such sights to show you. As you created, we have created to honor your actions. For your beauty, we have made our people beautiful. You will want for nothing-"

"COME TO US, HOLY TINDER," Pyro roars, its voice the starving crackle of flame and the churning of molten rock as volcanoes erupt. "NATLAN AWAITS YOU WITH AN OFFERING OF ENDLESS PASSION. YOU SHALL NEVER GO UNPROTECTED, UNLOVED, OR HUNGRY."

"Welcome, almighty Whirlwind of Creation," Electro purrs, speaking with the rattle-boom of echoing thunder. "Shall you grace my people with your presence?"

"Welcome home, Blessed Foundation," Geo hums, their voice the whispers of sand and the ancient growl of tectonic plates shifting. "Liyue has grown prosperous since you've last seen it. Perhaps you should come to us instead, where the riches of Teyvat could be put directly to use in pleasing you?"

"Don't listen to them, First Breath! We've waited for you the longest, like, a whole forever! We were first!" Anemo pleads, in the tones of breeze softly rustling leaves and howling tornadoes. "Even if you just stop by, that's totally fine!"

"You've finally come home, Heart of Winter? Good. We have missed you so." Cryo coos, the flurrying of snow and ancient creaking of glaciers their voice. "Snezhnaya may be a harsh land, but faith is enough to warm the bodies of my people."

"Flower of Irminsul, Root of All, please! You cannot come down! Another wears your face, please turn back if only for a few more days!" Dendro howls, desperate, voice a cacophony of falling trees and leaves rustling. "You ar-"

Dendro's voice fades as you pass the point of no return and begin to burn through the sky towards Mondstadt, Anemo ripping at the air to direct your course even as the other elements rage at them for their impudence.

As you fall, the memory of this conversation fades from your mind.

Welcome home, Maker, whispers the Abyss into the back of your mind.

Since that day, your time in Teyvat had become quite difficult. Whatever hopes you'd had for this world were soundly dashed.

Mondstadt 'welcomed' you with scorn and hostility for sharing the same face as their Heiliger Schöpfer, the Divine above Divines.

You were unsure as to why they hated you so, simply for your face- especially since that face is one that's otherwise looked kindly upon in this world.

You do your best to take in the sights, all the same. Though you are confused by the frosty reception, this place is so much more interesting than the game shows.

There are many more homes and people, you see (and pet) some stray animals, pick a particularly low philanemo mushroom after a couple seconds of jumping and stretching in an attempt to reach it, and generally just enjoy the (rather tense) locale.

Your confusion became fear when the Knights of Favonius begin to chase you. You'd done no crime, why would they hunt you like this, especially with such wrathful looks on their faces?!

The closest you get to meeting any of the allogenes on friendly terms comes when you breeze past Sucrose, yelping out a greeting to her. She just watches you go, incredibly confused, before a Knight accidentally bowls her over in his maddened rush after you.

Just as you exit the gate, the Knights just behind you, yelling curses and what you presume are threats-

P a i n.

Eula Lawrence just pushed a greatsword through your lungs and out your back. You have no clue how she got here so fast, where from, or how you didn't notice her.

You gag and choke as your blood quickly rushes into the space (and out of your body, simultaneously).

With a vicious yank, she tears it from you in a diagonal motion, nearly carving you in half.

A darkly satisfied look in her eyes is all you receive when you uselessly try to gasp for air and plead for help.

Your vision begins to fade, but before you can die of blood loss her boot comes down.

(Your nascent godhood activates the moment you die, and it plots a new trajectory: your misery will shape you until such a time comes that you will never feel this suffering again.)

You wake screaming in the woods, hands coming to clutch at your chest.

A massive golden scar lies just between your xiphoid process and sternum, perfectly horizontal in a way that only comes with practice.

Your clothes are covered in the brownish rusty red of old dried blood, and quite badly torn from where you were sliced nearly in two.

Breathing feels... easier, somehow. Like your lungs didn't just heal from immense trauma.

Your stomach aches badly and your mouth feels like it's full of sand. How long have you been laying here beneath the sun?

Your attempts to rise from this resting place are fruitless. You're so exhausted you can barely move your fingers.

Darkness slowly weighs your eyelids down and you fall asleep, even though you know you should not.

---

Elsewhere in the world, a being wearing your face stares up at a statue to themselves, noting with some alarm the golden scar across its chest.

The only recent news they had about an imposter was the Lawrence outcast running one through.

Now they'll have to find some way to replicate your scar and keep up the ruse.

"The original has truly descended, then... fine." They hiss, words venomous, glaring at the face of the statue. "If I can't have this place as my playground, then they won't get to have you."

---

The next time you wake, it is night, and the hunger in your belly is gnawing at you with such fervor that you feel lightheaded.

When you stand, your head twinges with pain as if to protest even this miniscule expenditure of energy.

Your body stumbles at first, briefly overcome by vertigo, but quickly adjusts.

Your mind changes its tune completely upon seeing a plump, ripe Sunsettia growing on its branch.

You desperately scramble over to pull the Sunsettia from the tree- only for it to drop into your waiting hands as soon as you reach up.

The 'how' of this doesn't quite matter to you in the moment. You bite into the ripe fruit and moan in bliss at the tart taste of the flesh and the sweetness of the juices. Within twenty seconds, you've reduced this fruit to a nubby pit, almost like a peach has.

That's kinda neat, actually. You distantly wonder what you have to crossbreed with a peach to make Sunsettias.

You pat the tree as if to thank it, not noticing that it suddenly stands a bit straighter or how its leaves are just a tiny bit greener, and go to find a nice place to put down this future Sunsettia tree.

You eventually get bored of looking for a good place and just poke a hole into the ground with a fallen branch, then stuff the remains of your first Sunsettia into the hole.

You wander off into the woods in hopes of finding a road, unaware of the golden-leaved sapling slowly growing behind you.

With a new source of energy in your system, you feel the urge to get moving- might as well make the most of this while you have it.

Your stamina is better than before, it feels like. Distances that previously felt difficult feel easier on your legs- and definitely on your lungs.

Perhaps this has something to do with your demise?

...what's that weird whistling soun-

You fall, dead, an Anemo-enriched arrow punching through the back of your head.

For a brief moment, you dream of a place deep beneath the surface of Teyvat, and a ruined statue oozing corruption into infinite darkness.

You wake with a small headache, very hungry, and more than a little pissed. Won't people just leave you the fuck alone?

Somehow, you feel sturdier. Less breakable. As nice as that is, you don't particularly feel up to testing it.

You stand.

Perhaps you should avoid civilization from now on.

Gnaw (6)

The bottom of the ocean is a cold, dark place. There is no light here, other than the faint glow of many bioluminescent markings on Osial's body. The sun's heat has never reached this deep, and the cold is so intense that you've shivered yourself to death repeatedly.

But with each death, you adapted. The icy temperature of these depths no longer mattered.

The crushing pressure of the deep ocean that once threatened to splinter your bones and crush you into a meatball now had no effect.

Gills just below your ribs filter oxygen into your body now that your lungs are useless.

"Great Storm, what are you thinking on so intensely?" Osial asks. "You have been silent and still for nearly three days."

You tell your newfound friend that you might have an idea of how to leave, but it will require his help.

"Of course. How may I serve my Creator?"

You ask for a bit of his flesh and explain that you gain energy from eating or from exposure to the elements.

You've already spent three days impaled through with stone spears at the bottom of the sea - you've probably absorbed plenty of energy and just need a catalyst.

His heads argue over who will be donating the required offering, but eventually settle on letting the central head bite off the very tip of its tongue.

A bit of glowing blue tongue drifts lazily on the currents and towards you. It's a chunk of flesh the size of a glass bottle, oozing a dark blue fluid.

You reach out with your unpinned arm and grip it, briefly cringing when it squirms in your grasp.

Once it's close to your mouth, you open up and bite into it quickly. This also means that you get some seawater into your mouth along with the bit of meat.

Gross.

The god-flesh isn't particularly appetizing, either. As you do your best to chew it, it writhes and twitches in your mouth. The taste is ponderously bland, though faintly fishy, and you're more than a little unsatisfied.

It takes you more time than you'd like to consume it, but once the last of it goes down, a feeling begins to flow through you.

A new sensation. Like there's a part of you that's just lost the pins-and-needles from being slept on and is back to normal.

Not just that, either. You feel revitalized, like the pains of your body are far away. You plant your palms against the seafloor, dig your fingers into the sands, and begin to rise. Osial looks delighted.

The spears of stone dig into your flesh, but you will not give up now. How can you? You feel unstoppable.

Electro energy arcs across your body and up the monstrous pillars, scorching them with such heat that they briefly glow.

You may be buried beneath the weight of a mountain... but faith can move mountains.

Through labored breathing, you ask what Osial desires most in the world.

"To sink Liyue to the bottom of the ocean, and see Morax take my place in the darkness below the waves eternally."

More personal than that.

"To hold Beisht, my beloved, in my embrace again."

...more achievable from his current position?

"Oh. Freedom, of course. To not bear these ridiculous spears in my back any longer."

And then, that new part of yourself flares to life. You smile through the pain of saltwater against open wounds and tell him you can manage that.

(Anemo smiles, eye glowing in the heart of the storm. A new bearer already? You're so kind.)

Mondstadt's suffering comes to an end, the haze of nightmarish heat finally lifting... but the winds are not the same.

The scent of sickness and rot no longer carries on the breeze because the breezes are so much milder.

Anemo visions dim, and then flare much brighter.

Less than an eighth of Mondstadt's population had succumbed to the heat, but many had become sick from an outbreak of food poisoning and the rapid onset of heat exhaustion. Others had become ill in the process of burying loved ones.

Their cries for aid went unanswered, and Venti's faith had been deeply shaken.

If their prayers were not reaching you... then who had they been worshipping all this time?

(He receives no answer, only the sounds of mourning on the wind as Mondstadt begins to burn the diseased dead.)

You stand at the bottom of the sea, hand against a stone spear weighing down Osial.

The electro in your body was refined and stretched into an axe, which you now used to hack away at the first pillar.

Every minute or so, you have him move slightly to see if the weight is becoming more manageable.

After four hours, each of them has been weakened enough for him to push off if he wasn't exhausted. Which he is.

You reach for your new power and then to Osial. Across the world, Anemo visions glow faintly. In Zapolyarny Palace, the Gnosis of the Anemo Archon unwinds into a soft breeze and vanishes.

Words come to your lips unbidden, a recital from a time you've forgotten.

"Noble beast. I, your maker, wish to form a pact with you."

Osial looks at you curiously, and then again in surprise when the Anemo Gnosis appears in your hand.

"You have shown me kindness in this dark place and given me the power to unbind us both.

You have been imprisoned beneath the waves for centuries by the one you hate the most, away from your lover, your goals just within reach but lost to you.

I have been hunted across the land I have traveled by traitorous mongrels and then abandoned here to rot alongside you.

With one look, you knew it was me. With but a single glance, you understood who now was at your side.

Your fealty to me is so very valuable, especially now."

You hold out the Anemo Gnosis in his direction.

"Become my Anemo Archon. The true God of Storms, and the symbol of destruction for all those who would rise against me."

He laughs with all five heads.

"I accept, my maker. The skies will be mine, and all who breathe beneath them will know you with reverence or know nothing ever again."

"This pact is sealed."

The sea burns bright with teal and blue light and then erupts into a monstrous storm, a hurricane screaming to life as a massive beam of energy pierces the heavens and vaporizes Guyun Stone Forest.

A new lord of the skies erupts from the sea with a joyous scream, stone pillars falling from his back, feathers and scales colored brilliantly.

"MORAX! I will have your head as a trophy for the All-Maker and your flesh as my meal! Face me and die, or watch me tear this miserable collection of insects apart like the coward you are!"

On his back is you, and in your eyes is a hunger for vengeance.

Your power fills the hurricane. Vast blades of lightning ready to fall at your command. Screaming winds coalesce around Osial. Arcs of plasma line his new fangs.

Liyue will pay for its actions, and the two of you will be collecting with interest.

((Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4

Gnaw: Grudge Match

For the first time, the Archon War and its ending are subject to a second opinion.

(And that opinion is yours.)

Osial banks across the stormy sky, feathers of his right wing dipping into the clouds above, water and wind forming beads against his wingtips that follow him as he dips back down. You lend him your energy, and Electro arcs across the vast plumage of his wings and pools inside the beads.

He flaps his wing. A single storm bead rockets down from the sky.

Fishing boats and trading ships are reduced to soaked splinters and fractured metal. The remains of sails, now naught but tatters, writhe in the wind before falling into the sea.

Those who do not die from the sheer enormity of the impact drown in the harbor, bleed out from shrapnel of their own ships, or meet their end at the hands of your contributed Electro energy.

Within fifteen seconds, the harbor has been reduced to a graveyard, the ruined husks of an entire fleet now skeletons lying in deathless slumber on the seabed.

Osial laughs, wild and untamed, just this side of lost to mania, and he dives, his wings glimmering with Anemo.

The Golden House didn't really stand much of a chance.

Electrically-charged Mora are funneled en masse into the vortex above, glinting gold with lightning tails flowing up into the sky in chaotic patterns. Some magnetize against each other, some fly alone, others ricochet into the sea or embed themselves into the land.

Several unlucky souls are punched cleanly through by the symbol of their nation's prosperity, leaving gaping holes in their flesh and ruined bones.

Their screams, warped by the wind and rain and the song of thunder, are a beautiful chorus to you. A performance to welcome you home and give warning to those who foolishly stand against you.

Thunder roars, deafening, and lightning falls, piercing Millelith members. Rain weighs them down, wind steals their breath, and the wind chill robs even the most hale and hearty of a steady aim.

Osial flicks out another storm bead. Several buildings are blasted apart, their rubble crushing their neighbors, metal and stone and wood making a cacophony of ruin.

Entire lives are being uprooted. Centuries of tradition are vanishing under the onslaught. The work of thousands of human lives simply vanishes as it topples into the bay, the waves hungrily lapping at the base of the city and greedily swallowing all that cannot escape.

A small smile stretches over your face.

They deserve this.

With a flick of your wrist, the remaining Mora cluster together into a single massive ball, and you will it towards the wreckage of the city with a little mental exertion.

It crashes down into the heart of the city, right where Rex Lapis once died, and it then erupts as all the force keeping it together simply ceases to do so.

Golden coins and human gore scatter in every direction as fleeing civilians are reduced to mulch by this world's most ostentatious fragmentation explosive.

Osial howls in glee, currents of vicious wind tearing humans from the streets and into his waiting maw as he dives again and again.

In the distance, there is a roar.

The earth shakes to its foundations as immense stone pillars rip free, aimed for Osial, their normally flat tops ground to geometrically perfect diamond spearpoints.

"Morax," Osial sneers. "Come to watch your miserable excuse for a city die under my wings?"

The being that appears then is not Zhongli, or even Rex Lapis. It is Morax. An ancient dragon, Archon of Geo. The God of Contracts and War. This is no simple serpent, no puppet meant to be majestic and awe-inspiring - this is the war-form. The true face of a draconic god, plated in metals hewn from the heart of the world, innards glowing with yellow-orange energy.

This Morax is the face of death.

Morax roars in wordless fury at his old foe... but then his eyes catch sight of you.

The roar becomes deafening, full of such hatred and vitriol that Osial briefly forgets to fly from surprise, leading him to dive instead.

On some cruel instinct, you give Morax the smuggest, most shit-eating grin you can conjure, and you mouth 'where were you when they needed you?'

If looks could kill, Morax would have just reduced you to subatomic particles.

You gesture to Osial, your gift helping to subtly translate, and he launches up into the storm and the highest points of the atmosphere.

Morax follows, howling threats in a language you don't know.

(The elements lean forward in their seats. You've just invited them to the best fight this eon. Bets are already being made. Geo and Anemo both grin at the other, eager to see whose champion is superior.)

Meteors fall, carved apart by wind.

Voices carry for thousands of miles, roaring in pain and glee and fury.

Bones shatter, scales are torn apart, wounds ooze blood in quantities enough to bathe Liyue in a red rain... and Gods war.

On the ground, the storm has only increased in strength, now that so much more energy is being poured into the area.

Not helping is the hail of immense stone pieces.

Where godly blood lands, life is burnt away by the acidic touch of divinity.

Those who did not flee before can flee no longer without risking swift, painful death.

(Ganyu weeps, the work of thousands of years falling apart in less than five hours. What use were her labors?)

(Ningguang vanishes into a bunker beneath the stone, where she can wait out this chaos. She will build herself back up. This is simply a setback.)

(Hu Tao watches from a distant field as her home is utterly destroyed.

...some morbid little part of her gleefully remarks that business is about to be skyrocketing.)

(Shenhe is unaware of this happening, having been spirited away into Cloud Retainer's realm the moment said Adeptus realized just who had been given a burial at sea.)

(Yanfei is luckily out of the country right now, instead in Fontaine to deal with a reappearing case she'd long thought solved.)

(Xinyan assists in evacuation efforts, her flames burning away godsblood and rain to shelter those nearby.)

(Chongyun and Xingqiu barely manage to stem the tide of raging Hilichurls that are dead set on killing the escaping civilians.)

(Kequing lies in the collapsed rubble of a multi-story building, her Vision repeatedly shocking her as Electro takes the moment to be immensely petty.)

(Xiao drowns in his Karmic Debt, feathers trying to force their way through his skin as his more animalistic instincts refuse to obey.)

(Baizhu has already fled, knowing that he neither can be nor wishes to be of use in this fight. His work is not yet done.)

(Yaoyao stands guard over the population who have made it to her home village.)

(Yun Jin helps to gather scattered families back together amongst the crowds of refugees. Xiangling and her father work to feed the masses while they are all displaced.)

(Beidou watches the storm from the far horizon on the deck of the Alcor. Going in would be suicide, but not helping is just as unthinkable. She must choose, but the sheer weight of the choice is paralyzing. The fleet follows behind her, whether that is into certain death or into retreat.)

(Qiqi stands in the heaviest torrents of the storm. Where the blood of gods stains her skin, life is breathed back into dead flesh.))

Far above in the heavens, Osial and Zhongli are tangled, claws gouging into the new Anemo Archon's innards as coils attempt to shatter the Geo Archon's ancient spine.

There is a deafening crack as Morax's spine bends in a way it was never supposed to.

Ribbons of intestine hang from the massive wound in Osial's underbelly.

Both of them begin to fall to the face of Teyvat tens of thousands of miles below, and you are along for the ride.

Osial lets out a wheezy cackle as he tightens his grip on Morax, drowning in his own blood.

Morax writhes, wings unresponsive.

You hug yourself against Osial. Impact comes far sooner than you expected.

There is darkness.

When you wake, you are in the shallows of an immense crater, exactly where Liyue Harbor should have been. The moon glows pale white above you.

Shattered pillars and ruined buildings jut from the not-quite-bay.

Sitting next to you is a not-very-undead Qiqi. She gives you a relieved look when she sees you're alive. You offer her a thumbs up, as though that will solve the issue.

She accepts it with as much grace as anyone in her situation can and returns the thumbs up, smiling at you faintly.

Beneath you is Osial, dying from mortal wounds but still very alive. Somewhere in the distance is a similarly wounded Morax.

You climb down from your dying companion and come to face him.

"Ah... good. You still live. I did not fail you," Osial gurgles. "Thank you... for helping me settle the score, my maker."

You tell him to hold on. You're sure there's something you can do to heal him. He lets out an amused huff.

"Your kindness is touching, but I know my end is coming. I can feel the Abyss."

You refuse. Osial is yours, damn it. Your friend. Your first Archon. Your protector.

A feeling wells up inside of you.

He will not die. You won't allow it.

Your eyes burn as tears stream down your face. You rest a hand against his scaly face, and ask him to trust you one more time.

"Of course. Always."

You let your power flow. The world erupts into starlight as a new constellation is born, sky adorned with a new pattern of stars: Serpens Fidelis.

The loyal serpent.

Where once laid your dying companion is now a male of mortal human size, who sits up, obviously quite discombobulated. He manages to find his feet, though repeatedly stumbles as he takes his first steps.

Scarred tan skin faintly reflects the moonlight, bathing him in an ethereal glow. Silver locks of hair with deep blue accents seem to drink in the moonlight.

He turns to you, finally, and grins, canine teeth closer to fangs than human, Cherenkov blue eyes glimmering with undeniable joy.

"Thank you, my maker. This new form is far less damaged."

From his right hip dangles a Hydro vision. The Anemo Gnosis is in your hands instead. It appears the cost for his life was you reclaiming the archonhood you bestowed upon him.

He is otherwise entirely nude and doesn't particularly seem to notice this. Maybe that's because he's never had to wear clothes before.

You kindly point this out to him, more than a little embarrassed on his behalf, your hands over Qiqi's eyes so she doesn't see.

Holy shit, was he always that built?

He grins at you, shooting you a salacious wink. "Yes, yes. Get an eyeful of my statuesque physique. I worked for many years on it."

You ask how he managed that as best you can while dying of embarrassment.

"You become quite proficient at lifting weights and swimming at the same time while trying to struggle free of stone javelins pinning you to the seafloor," he says mildly.

He manipulates the water and stormclouds into a set of luxurious robes. A sash at his waist now holds the Hydro vision.

On his back rests a fragment of the Jade Chamber carved into a massive greatsword.

"Shall we gloat over our dying adversary together, my maker?"

Yes, this sounds like a phenomenal idea.

You let Qiqi go, now that Osial is not running a one-hydra nudist colony, and she follows behind the two of you like a lost puppy.

Morax has returned to the form of Zhongli by the time you get to him.

The Vortex Vanquisher lies shattered at his side, and hundreds of rips and tears in his clothes display his grievous wounds.

Osial confidently struts over.

"Why hello, hated enemy mine~"

Zhongli weakly snarls up at him, and also at you, his fists curling feebly at his sides.

"Damn you both. May the Creator strike you both down into the depths of the Abyss."

Osial lets out a small 'snrk', begins to lowly chuckle, and slowly escalates to peals of howling, gleeful laughter. Zhongli just looks offended while Osial laughs himself nearly sick.

"By the maker, you have no idea who you're talking to right now, do you?" He wheezes, tears in his eyes, clutching at his sides.

"The destroyer of my people and an abomination wearing the skin of the Creator of All." Zhongli fires back, indignant. "Are you blind?"

"Go ahead and pray for our maker to save you. See what happens," Osial says, grinning cruelly.

Zhongli murmurs a prayer for protection from evil.

A faint glimmer of magical energy escapes his lips and swirls just above your hands. You cringe at it and wave it away like it's smoke.

Zhongli goes ghost-white, his eyes becoming impossibly wide.

"Creator?"

Tears bead at the corners of his eyes as his actions finally begin to play back in his mind.

"Please, my maker, forgive m-"

Osial cuts off his head.

"What an asshole," he snickers, some blood now on his cheek, a massive grin on his face. "I'm glad he's dead."

You just look at him like he's crazy. Which he probably is.

"Oooooooooohhhh, that's who you are." Qiqi says from behind you, having caught on to your true identity.

Another massive hydra erupts from the ocean in the distance and lets out a sound akin to whalesong.

"HI, HONEY!" Osial yells in her direction before immediately bolting towards her.

You let out a distressed sigh. Exactly what kind of mess have you just gotten into?

(Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4 @ash1 @chilling-on-the-moon @fluffy-koalala @extremelytoastybread @euphoricaldemise

This should probably be all of you.))

dead leaves

summary: the creator is meant to be worshipped and praised, exalted to the highest of high. so… what went wrong?

word count: 1.2k

-> warnings: mentions of blood, you die multiple times, bitter(?) ending, spoilers for xiao lore (but it’s not said to be xiao specifically so technically you could read and just not know it’s him but now that i’ve said that you know it’s him so-)

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me

< masterlist >

it wasn’t meant to happen like this.

it was never to occur at all, in fairness, but like this?

the clouds parted to make way for a single glitering star, shining a white hot gold. the whole world turned, stopped and stared in awe, every leaf on every stalk bearing witness to the one they called god.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. the golden shine poured through the tall windows of a palace meant for you, the heretic in a crown ordering your people to betray you. their hands shook where their followers could not see—perhaps even they were aware of why the trees were rejoicing.

you, blessed you, torn from your home by the divinity in your blood, picking yourself up from sand with barely a vague memory of your location. walk, climb, walk again, and that’s where you learned how to swim, led on by the crumbling stone of barbatos’ statue. the squirrels chittered and the hilichurls retreated, not wanting to frighten you, bandaged hands seeking shields and clubs to keep busy instead.

mondstat is the nation of anemo. happy and bustling, merchants calling across courtyards, adventurers waking with the sun to continue their trade. a cool breeze welcomed you, tugging you along a stone bridge, the winds quiet.

so quiet, in fact, that the archon stirred from his slumber early, reaching for his bow.

you never even made it to the city gates. the doves on the bridge hopped closer as you approached, the knights on duty watching how eagerly they pressed themselves against you. a nod, a twist, a chain of knights leading up to the headquarters, all set on edge the moment the acting grandmaster cleared them to engage.

the first casualty was a bird. it had flung itself into the air, halting the arrow in its tracks, drawing your attention to the man standing atop the city wall. another bird died before you understood his crime.

leaves dappled the ground in shades of green, warm light falling on you as you ran. you didn’t know where you were going, really, and why would you? who had a contingency plan for when everyone they loved turned away? the river tumbled over smoothed rocks, the bright beacon of the statue of the seven pleading for forgiveness even as it’s archon wanted you dead.

mondstat was the city of freedom. could it still be called that when you bled out before you could reach the border?

you couldn’t die. literally, you couldn’t. ley lines converged where you were crossed, absorbing the dissipating flakes of your physical body. the earth hummed beneath the anemo archon’s feet as he watched divine blue blood be sucked up and swept away. was it a hallucination? how would he know?

elemental energy coursed through the earth, sprouting again at the geo through which it bled, releasing the holy light it carried and supplementing with its own. within the hour your eyes opened again, unsure whether to pray it was a dream or wonder which god could hear you.

liyue, nation of geo. the stone hummed beneath your feet, though you didn’t walk toward the city. you’d learned your lesson fast, and a spear to the gut would certainly take longer to kill than an arrow to the neck. not that it mattered, of course—the adepti are too in tune with the land to not have noticed your arrival.

as it turned out a spear does hurt more, which you learned when you found it sprouting from your stomach in the split second before the pain hit. bright jade stained blue, betrayal glimpsed in the dying eyes of the one alatus once called his savior.

and it began anew.

teyvat bubbled with anger, torn between enacting vengeance on those that hurt its maker and protecting you. you were taken to places of shelter, but people learned to follow where nature raged loudest. even if they didn’t, if storms kicked up in false alarm to draw them away, intuition toward their creator was sewn into the hems of every living creature. hilichurls could only hold up for so long, and the millelith were used to dealing with vishaps. the dense forests of sumeru were memorized by the most vigilant forest watcher, the consecrated beasts in the desert too big to keep up with the agility of the general mahamatra.

how cruel for you to die like this, at the hands of the ones you should have been able to trust. how cruel for you to die at all, stabbed in the back by those who should have worshipped you.

the one on your throne was tolerated, just barely so, rationalized as the people needing an idol to follow in your continued absence. but now you were here, now they had no reason to be, and visions began to go haywire whenever they entered the throne room. boars outran hunters, trees tangling over boots as nature wrought vengeance on behalf of its god.

you were everything.

every scholar sought to understood your world further, your spirit found in every star in the sky. to study the world was to study you, how every string was woven into the universe. when you looked to the earth the soil said hello, the trees bowing before their creator, and yet your most beloved artwork was the one that hated you the most. was it hubristic to think a mortal could truly kill a god, or pathetic that they believed the fraud so quickly? they didn’t have elemental energy buzzing at their fingertips, they didn’t have the respect of the world, only commanding people, those easily swayed by a similar face and lucky coincidences. they were nothing like you, you who held galaxies in your blood, you who created the sky and the seas and the creatures within, who created everything. who was everything.

…and now you were nothing. lost in the ley lines that frantically searched for a place to host your body, outrunning the hunt for the god of all. nothing, half conscious in the heart of the earth, within a cave that had cracked open for this very purpose. hidden, the entrance sealed by stone itself, only allowing in slimes that helped sustain you. how cruel, the skies wept, torrents of rain falling in punishment. the fraud barely left the palace anymore, which was only standing thanks to reinforcement from the geo archon. were it not for their lie, they would be dead a thousand times over, killed in every way you had.

but they were in the palace, hidden where the world could not reach. so stone cradled your body, carefully ensuring you still continued to breathe, leylines redirecting to offer energy. not awake, not asleep, stuck in a stasis while hell raged around you.

it’s alright. teyvat would have its revenge eventually. lightning would find its way into the palace, someone would bring something carrying elemental energy into the throne room, something. the fake would die and you would be born anew from the earth, weak and tired but alive, most importantly.

anemo brushes off dust that begins to settle in your clothes, hydro doing its best to soothe the cracks on your lips. geo rolls you over so you don’t bruise, dendro adjusting its net of vines to keep you stable.

eventually…

Gnaw (2)

(Warnings: same as the previous chapter, found here.)

One of the largest issues with going from a simulated Teyvat to an actualized Teyvat is the sheer size.

The bridge outside of Mondstadt, which takes the Traveler like fifteen seconds to cross in a sprint? That's a good two minutes of walking at the least.

The rest of Mondstadt is massive, too, of course, but it's absolutely gorgeous. Perfect grass, clear rivers and ponds, rather imposing cliffs...

Maybe the people are a little unfriendly, but hey! The land itself makes up for your now-in-the-negatives social life.

Besides, this much air and sunlight are probably a good thing. You aren't too hot, there isn't like half of a forest worth of pollen up your nose, the breeze is really nice, and nobody's come to try and maul you!

As far as sightseeing tours go, this ain't the best. But it'll do.

Plus, you're pretty sure that the theoretical tour guide probably wouldn't let you pull up all the dandelions you wanted and blow on them to make their seeds go everywhere.

There's a faint gnaw in the pit of your stomach. You've eaten some berries, a carrot you found in a crate, and another Sunsettia, but you just can't shake the feeling.

The best way your mind can think to describe it is that your teeth are dissatisfied. You didn't do enough with this meal. It just sorta happened.

Perhaps you're going insane.

(On a distant cliff, the wind brings your breathing to an Archon, who sets down his lyre and raises a bow.)

There is a faint whistle on the air, one you swear you've heard before. Then it hits you - the sound of an arrow!

By some instinct, you hurl yourself aside, slamming into the grass and dirt.

A brilliant arrow is lodged into the ground at an angle that would have firmly made itself at home in the back of your skull. Had you not just launched yourself aside, you would be dead.

And then you hear another whistle.

You scramble up onto your feet and take off in a dead sprint. Anemo-powered arrows narrowly miss you four times as you zig-zag and duck behind stones or trees.

...you think you know who this is, or at least have a damn good idea.

Venti. Barbatos. Tone-deaf bard. Alcoholic lyre dude. That one.

You curse him out under your breath. The arrows seem to be coming faster all of a sudden.

The next arrow doesn't come down with a whistle. It comes down with a scream. The Anemo-charged arrow, cloaked in a blade of wind, pierces your back and launches you through the woodlands with enough force to demolish trees like matchsticks.

You skid to a stop, a fine path of devastation and upturned soil behind you, and your head lolls up on a shattered neck to stare blankly into the sky as you slip away into darkness.

(Dendro hisses at the other elements, their vast roots curling in anger. "We should have kept them out until this was solved!"

The others say nothing. Talking will do little to protect you, and those who raise their hands against you must be punished.)

Barbatos has a nightmare that night, after killing the one who stole the face of the World-Shaper.

He has been torn from his false face, cast into the heart of a vast hurricane, the wind itself screaming in hatred and rage, every whisper now purely poisonous. Every failure mocked, every mistake repeatedly shoved into his face, and every sin accounted for.

The wind wails, slipstreams like claws raking across his elemental flesh, battering him as he's tossed from gust of wind to gust of wind.

(He is unaware that to any observer, it would look like he was a rather hated captive ball in the world's most esoteric pinball machine.)

A voice tears itself from the monstrous storm around him, echoing in the bone-shuddering blasts of thunder.

Vile little wisp! You would dare to raise a hand against the divine most holy, our maker?!

He doesn't understand, and any chance he'd have to think or speak is repeatedly knocked from his head as he crashes into walls of wind firm enough to be stone.

Immense pressure crushes down around him, stalling him in place as if grasped in the enormous hand of a titan, and he cries out at it squeezes.

He looks up as he tries in vain to wriggle and flee, and he sees. Every part of him freezes in horror.

I am Anemo. The embodiment of sky, of breath. I am the Taker of Voices.

He is brought closer to the core of light at the center of the apocalyptic current.

I had such hope for you. A God of Freedom, one who would see the oppressed liberated from their miseries! One who would cast the sadness and hatred from his people to the winds, where they would be forgotten!

One who would spread the laughter of the First Breath to all corners of this world.

One who would be their protector, hearing misfortune on the winds and striking down those who would spell disaster for us all with the wrath of a great storm.

But you have failed. You have taken up arms against the one you were made to cherish with hatred in your heart.

You have forgotten your own freedom. The freedom to think for yourself, to act without orders. To go against what is known down a new path.

He cries out as some kind of tether is cut from his body, ripped away into the vortex.

You are my Archon no more. I shall find one more suitable to the task.

Perhaps in time, the Maker will find you pitiable enough to reinstate you as my envoy to Teyvat.

Enjoy your freedom, Venti of Mondstadt.

He plummets, the wind abandoning him entirely. The ground opens, a ravenous maw, stones and bedrock ground down like sharp fangs, and he falls into a lightless darkness.

He wakes, screaming and sobbing in equal measure.

He cannot feel the wind. He cannot hear it.

At his side, the light of the false Vision gutters out, dimming until not even a spark of Anemo remains within.

(Within a frozen palace, the light of the Anemo Gnosis dulls, waiting for a host to be chosen anew.)

consciousness returns to you in bits and pieces, your entire body an immense ache. Your joints are so sore you can barely move them without feeling the urge to weep.

Your nose is filled with the scent of the ocean. You can hear waves, and ever so faintly, the calls of birds. You feel safer here, somehow, as though this place is devoid of other intelligent beings.

Your eyes close again, body exhausted and unable to resist the siren call of unconsciousness in a space without threats.

On your back is a new scar, a spiral of gold starting between your shoulderblades and reaching out towards your ribs.

(Gnaw Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @iruiji @itz-luna @itsredactedlove @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @crierofirony

Thank you all very much for your interest.)

Gnaw (3)

(Warnings: Blood, Violence, Body Horror)

When you wake, you are starving. It feels like someone's torn out your stomach and left a yawning cavern inside of you that threatens to make you collapse in on yourself in a desperate attempt to fill the void.

You cannot think through the sheer ravenousness of this hunger. Morals and principles have dissolved under the infinite maw within that threatens to consume you.

You stand shakily, eyes darting around as you search for even the faintest hint to the location of nearby food.

And then you see it. The most beautiful thing you've ever laid eyes on.

A sparrow.

Your mouth begins to water at the thought of meat. Pork, beef, fowl, venison, mutton? It's food.

You creep towards it, vision already tunneling, and prepare to lunge. In a burst of movement, you blitz towards the unaware bird and your hand clamps down on it like a vice.

It is at this point that another, more sane person would kill the animal and dress it for cooking. You are not that person right now.

You stuff the bird into your mouth and begin to chew. You don't particularly give a shit if it's alive right now, you're starving.

You bravely ignore the way it sounds like the world's most morbid popcorn.

Blood hits your tongue. It's the most brilliant thing you've ever tasted. There is no tang of iron or bitterness. There is just warmth that flows through your veins like a wildfire inside you.

If anything, you feel a little high.

Perhaps, in another time, the thought of consuming another living being might have turned your stomach. Maybe you'd sworn off meats at all in favor of something less cruel.

You aren't at the pilot seat right now. There is an animal there, sating the most primal urge in existence - to live.

For a moment, though, let's step away from your perspective, and instead talk about what's happening to you.

From the moment you came to Teyvat, dormant bits of your biology have been returning to function now that there is elemental energy to sustain them.

Those parts will rewrite your genetic code to restore you to godhood.

Right now, however, you are in a rather malleable state - not quite human anymore, but not quite divine.

Luckily for you, there are options other than waiting.

Everything on this planet has a trace of what you were in it. Every being, every plant, every animal, every stone, and every speck of dust has an itty bitty bit of you in the form of elemental energy. And you can reclaim it.

By dying, you've been taking back the energy from the strikes used to end you.

By eating, you absorb the elemental energy inside the food.

You, much like the allogenes, have some limits to break, each step bringing you closer to the next 'star'.

You've just reached the first one. Congratulations.

All of a sudden, you feel like, well, a new person. It's as though you've woken up from the aftereffects of a really shitty nap and banished the grogginess.

You are awake in a way you weren't, and suddenly, the world just feels sharper.

(In a separate dimension, the elements of Teyvat cheer. You're one step closer to taking this place back from your poor imitation.)

Unbeknownst to you, attacking you has had consequences for Mondstadt.

Their wine is vinegar now. It's as if someone's mixed every last drop of booze with lots and lots of fresh air.

Oops.

Beer? Gone. That's just trash now. Oxidation wrecks the flavor in that, too.

Stored meat has been rotting, plants are wilting on the vine, animals birth nothing. The clouds have parted, and a miserably hot sun has decided to cheerily bake the faces of every single human being in Mondstadt.

The winds do not blow. There is no breeze.

(The only person not feeling like they've stepped into an oven is Eula, who is beginning to suffer the effects of hypothermia.

She killed you, and now Cryo is going to punish her by not regulating the energy they push into her Vision. She will slowly freeze to death and feel every cell of her body dying from cold unless she grovels at your feet.

Cryo - an ancient, inhuman element as old as this universe - thinks this is a rather lenient punishment and not an excruciating torture. You will likely need to teach them otherwise when you reclaim your throne.)

Prayers in Mondstadt have doubled and maybe even tripled. Sacrifices of food can't be given, so instead, they're offering Mora. Piles and piles of coins now give your shrines a stately golden glow under the light of the vicious sun.

For the first time in centuries, Venti takes to his knees and prays.

You are not there to hear their begging for clemency.

And as a god, you never particularly thought you'd need an answering machine, so it's not like the prayers get saved.

(This is the first time since your creation of Teyvat that the elements have put their squabbles aside and the first time they've worked together to make a group of people absolutely miserable, and honestly? They're having a great time.)

You've been running around this beach for a while, laughing happily as you enjoy your newfound strength and stamina.

You can skip a rock fifteen times before it sinks. That's pretty dope. You didn't even know you got the technique down so perfectly until now.

A strange pressure builds in your head and you begin to have a vision. Not the kind you wear on your person, and grants you elemental powers - the kind where you have an out-of-body experience and See Some Shit.

Before you stands a tall, androgynous figure. They're dressed in comfy clothes that lack any regional indicator of origin. If anything, the style reminds you of clothing from Earth.

Hell, they just look like someone that probably would have belonged to your old world. The reason you know who they are is their eyes and the symbol where a pupil would normally be.

They give you a crooked grin, face brightening just a tiny bit as they offer a hand to shake.

"Hello again, Great Maelstrom. I think it's time you and I reconnected, hm?"

((Taglist of lovely people:

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@thatdeadaquarius

@ssak-i

@imyme20

@fried-lotud

@acacla

@itz-luna

@iruiji

@crierofirony

@itsredactedlove

@sweetsthetik

@leafanonsforest

@kkazuyass

@featuredtofu

@oxyotl (whose name I misspelled in my taglist notes as 'oxylotl', like some kind of oxygen axolotl)

Apologies to @galaxy-batsy-world, it refuses to let me tag you. Do you have a different @?))