littlesilhouettoofaman | The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

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The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

First they were nothing but echoes, noises without a source or purpose, just something he could blame on the battle he just lost. But echoes changed into soft voices and footsteps and eventually he could even hear the sound of rain outside.
And his body did not hurt after the fall he made, it is merely a familiar sort of uncomfortable sensation of joints popped out of place and cracks that shouldn’t be there. But he had expected to be beyond angry, to feel that rage surge through him, that sense of absolute frustration and that undying desire to serve a certain purpose, that certain purpose. But surprisingly enough there was nothing for now. Just a dreadful, heavy emptiness.

Of course he remembered everything. How could he forget it? Yet another setback. He had been so close to fulfilling his birthright and then that idiot… Oh, yes, the idiot. That buffoon who ranked way lower than him and had the audacity to stand up to a god. And had the audacity to win.

The room is quite dark and when he opens his eyes he can see a couple of figures standing close and half of his mind expects to see the Doctor standing between all of them. But he is nowhere to be seen.

“Get out.”

Did they all come to look at a fallen god? Because seriously, who’d given them the right to do so? So when he repeats the words for a second time they are louder and a lot more threatening.

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'There is barely any life in you left.'

Really, Scaramouche could end everything in the blink of an eye. But, alas, he isn't forgiving and he isn't kind either. He knows very well what he has become and, to be fair, he likes to bask in it. What is a mere human in the eye of a god? Nothing but disposable garbage. Fragile and useless.

Slowly he moves back, letting go of the other Harbinger's throat in the process. For a moment he stays silent, his hands resting on Childe's chest while the look on his face is perfectly neutral. He tilts his head a little when he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. It sounds like a reassurance of some sort. Permission, maybe.

"Let me see your face."

Without any further ado he hooks his fingers around Childe's mask and slowly lifts it. Because there is something there inside of the other. Hidden deep. He wants to uncover it, see what it is.

'If that is the choice you wish to make... Worry not, I can be quite a benevolent god.'

Scaramouche wonders if Childe can feel it. A certain pressure, a sweet, reassuring whisper that there might be some blood. And really Childe free to wrap his own hands around his throat.

Much to his surprise, Scaramouche lets go of his throat, and the moment he does Childe sucks in air to keep himself from passing out and dying. It's beautiful, life-giving oxygen, and he gasps helplessly for it, filling his lungs once more. The pain of not breathing was worse than the rest of the pain radiating through his body, since at least he can live for a few moments longer.

Unable to resist, he can only look up to see his opponent studying him, lifting his mask, wanting to see his face. Lifting the mask reveals the blood that's spilled all over him, staining his skin red and dripping down over one eye. There's agony written all over his features, yet somehow managing to stay awake and in control of his transformation.

As he stares upward, something in his mind shifts, something that falls in line with those last words.

'I can be quite a benevolent god.'

It soothes him and takes him by the hand, opens up the hidden corners of his heart and mind, beckons him closer. And in his state, Childe isn't able to resist it, gazing upwards at the god in front of him that's giving him the chance to take one last life.

Before he knows it, somehow, his own hands wrap around his own throat, choking himself with as much strength as he can muster. He neither knows how he's able to even lift his arms up to do so, or how he's able to find any strength to squeeze his own life out of him, but none of that matters underneath the benevolent gaze of his new god.

As the lack of oxygen begins to make his mind muddled and confused, there's one thing that floats to the surface underneath the power and control that Scaramouche has been searching for since he woke from the battle between the two men- a strong feeling of love and admiration that exudes from the Eleventh Harbinger that was hiding previously. It's not a warmth that formed as a result of the mind control that's gotten him to want to take his own life, but one that's been there the entire time. How Childe appreciates that Scaramouche has never been like the other Harbingers, straightforward and to the point, unafraid to step out from the shadows unlike some of the other Harbingers. There's admiration for his strength too, Childe always wanting to challenge himself against him. And though Childe finds him rough around the edges and hard to get along with, there's still these amorous feelings that show themselves fully now as life depletes from his wrecked body, looking happy to take his own life for Scaramouche in his weakened state.

At least he was able to save him from being destroyed when he took the gnosis from him and sent it back to Snezhnaya. At least he was able to do that much. But now he'll gladly die, if this is what his Lord wants...

Watching the other makes him realize even more that he is completely above humanity. That he truly is a god, a being superior to them, a being who isn't fragile, who doesn't bleed. But still, there is something quite interesting about the sight of Childe's face when that mask comes off. He's suffering. In pain.

'Death would be so sweet, don't you think?'

Scaramouche leans in closer, eyes widened with the hint of a smile around his lips. And then his hands come up, sliding up his throat briefly before those fingers do as his god has commanded them to do. Squeeze.

'Do it for me...'

And really, he would have watched all up to the point where that life, all that strength would wither and die. Because, in the end, humans are simple, fragile bags of flesh. Everything seems to end as it should end. At least, until Scaramouche picks up something else. Perhaps it was what he was looking for, the part he wanted to uncover. It was something that felt like a smouldering fire. Warm and cozy, intimate and somewhat tingly.

Is it...?

'Idiot.'

The word would echo through Childe's mind and perhaps the urge to squeeze his throat shut could lessen. Maybe Childe just wanted to live. Maybe, his god would allow him to live. Maybe said god has missed such things since they reminded him of a sweeter time. A time before betrayal and anger.

He squeezes his throat with a renewed strength that only a god, his god can give him.

He can feel his consciousness slip away as his oxygen is depleted, smiling as he silently agrees with Scaramouche's statement. Yes, death is sweet, especially when commanded by this divine being that he's so lucky to be able to interact with directly. So few mortals ever get the chance to be so intimately connected with a god, and Childe is one of the few that's been able to serve not one, but two gods now. He knows he's about to pass out, barely able to keep his eyes open before a harsh insult is thrown his way.

It rips through his mind, making the urge to end his life lessen, confused. Did he offend Lord Scaramouche...? What is it that's made him go back on his own will? He looks up in anguish at possibly doing something to fail him...

'Lord...?'

Still incapable of having the energy to speak on his own, the thought comes though, asking. What's wrong? How could he possibly make it up to him?

Scaramouche sits back a little, gazing at him with a look on his face that is right between annoyance, confusion and amazement. And after a short moment of silence he finally speaks again, using his voice this time.

"Why did you fix me after our fight? Tell me the true reason."

He has to know if Childe is that much of a weird idiot. He has to know if that warmth is meant for him and him alone.

"Tell me what it is. What is in your heart."

Still under the influence of his divine will, even though the words aren't being delivered by telepathy, he's still unable to resist the control that Scaramouche has over his mind. Childe's hands finally drop from his own throat as life-giving oxygen refills his lungs, sucking in as much air as he can before coughing violently as he hacks blood up onto the ground. He's been commanded to answer this question, and he's struggling to answer, but he must, he has to tell him the truth.

The truth he'd buried deep in his heart, locked away for fear of rejection, something he told himself he never needed to be reciprocated...

"I...couldn't...bear to leave you."

The words are heavy and laden with the weight of his body still on the brink of death, but he answers, finally.

"I've always...admired you...loved you from a distance. ...I could never...tell you."

Childe seems apologetic in his admission to his new Lord, ready for retribution from the divine God in his presence. His heart burns with embarrassment and fear, because now he's sure he'll be rejected and laughed at, a lowly mortal who's not worthy of his god.

"...Sorry. I had to...obey the Tsaritsa's orders."

Scaramouche knows he can be vile and cruel. He also knows he is bad at controlling the anger inside of him. But he also knows he's meant to be a god and he's quite sure he is able to be a benevolent one. Even to fragile little humans who are so reliant on oxygen as this one.

"Tch." He crosses his arms. "You are in no way suitable to be a Harbinger."

Still, he would be quite a terrible god to turn away his first follower like that. Even when that follower admits to quite foolish things. Scaramouche could punish him for that, to take such heavy words in his mouth, to let such feelings live inside his heart.

"How human of you." Slowly he moves to reach out and when he touches Childe's cheek the touch is almost kind. "How your heart must have ached..." Then he cackles softly. "Would you betray your beloved Tsaritsa for me? Is that love of yours rooted this deep? Or is it a mere lie?"

Though battered and beaten, his ego can withstand the criticism of Lord Scaramouche- many a Harbinger has uttered that phrase before, that he was not fit for his position. But it never mattered to him, no matter who it came from. The position simply was a reward for all his victories in battle, though it doesn't mean much now that he's bathed in his own blood, and lucky to be on the receiving end of the mercy of his Lord who hasn't killed him yet. Tartaglia's eyes roll in their sockets, trying his best to stay conscious, the toll of the battle slowly overtaking him. Soon, he's sure he'll pass out, but he'll hang on for as long as his Lord demands him to.

"I..."

To ask him that question now, under the strong influence of this divine being's power is hard. Childe loves the Tsaritsa, and is deeply devoted to her, but the love in his heart for Scaramouche is a different sort. One that drove him to keep Scaramouche alive during their battle, one that led him to fix him and keep him hidden away from the Fatui.

"...I already have."

He should've killed him, ended him in the labyrinth under the Akademiya. That's what was expected of him as a Harbinger, and yet, he disobeyed that order. Childe's body shudders under Scaramouche's touch, his breath ragged, realizing his position and what he's done. He has betrayed the Tsaritsa. The one thing he looked down upon some of the Harbingers for, he's committed himself. And now, in the presence of a god, one that's beaten him almost to death and could take his life any second on a whim, what is he to do? He can't move, and is struggling to breathe...blood pours from his head and his body is wracked with pain.

Whatever Scaramouche decides from here will be his fate. He's lost, and now his days of seeking endless battle just might end.

Scaramouche can see how the other is trying his very best to remain conscious. Despite his flesh giving in to those injuries, he keeps his eyes open, he keeps talking and yes he can see that shudder after his touch.

"Is it worth it?"

He reaches out again, catching some blood on his finger as he leans a little closer.

"Is it all you have wanted?" Scaramouche wants to hear those words of praise, in fact, he needs them. Slowly he brings that bloody finger to his lips to take a curious lick. Now he is familiar with the scent of human blood, but he has never tasted it. "Heh. It tastes disgusting. Unworthy of a god like me."

He leans in even closer, both of his hands sliding over Childe's cheeks now.

"What will you do about it? Cast off your human shell? Become something more?"

He asks Tartaglia questions that he doesn't necessarily know the answer to.

Was it worth it? Was it what he really wanted? He's not sure. As he sits there, bloody and broken, he does wonder if it was all worth it in the end. If he dies here, he loses everything, but to restore Scaramouche to at least a fraction of his previous power...it's all confusing and conflicting to him. Childe doesn't answer right away, looking into the god's eyes as his hands cup his cheeks.

More questions he doesn't know how to answer.

"I don't know what you mean..."

He doesn't exactly have the ability to do that. The closest thing he has to transforming into something else is the form he's in now, a broken Foul Legacy Transformation that came from beyond the heavens itself. Or is it a trick question, if he says yes, then he'd be granted a painful death and lose his human shell? It's a dangerous position he finds himself in, and Childe thinks on how to proceed while also not withholding the truth. It's hard, with the world spinning and his mind muddled with the overwhelming power and presence that Scaramouche has on it, plus how lightheaded he feels.

"I don't want to die, if...that's...cough...what you're asking."

"Of course you don't want to die. Humans are quite afraid of death to begin with. And you are, most of all, nothing but a fragile little human."

Scaramouche keeps his hands on Childe's cheeks for a while as he studies his face, thinking about what to do with his new (and only) follower. What to do with his new fate? What to do with a dream he has given up on a while ago, only to be able to live it anyways?

"And I do think you are too valuable to lose. I am a benevolent god, you know?"

----

And Scaramouche keeps his word. He waits, in an almost patient way, for Childe to finally stop talking. And no, he doesn't have plans to let him die. In a way, being worshiped by a Fatui Harbinger isn't the worst outcome. Of course, Childe is the weakest one and the one he deems the most stupid, but still, all in all, it could be worse.

As the dark settles in he busies himself with examining the idiot's injuries, carefully removing armor and fabric. And, somewhere along the line, he makes sure that his first follower is a little bit more comfortable than before. At least, the comfort a small abandoned house can offer.

And then, somewhere along the line, he realizes what it is that hides inside that heart of the other. What his motivations were.

"You are beyond stupid." Scaramouche whispers the words softly, not really knowing if the other is awake or not. "Yet, as your god I will not complain about that devotion of yours."

Childe ponders in that short moment, what his fate will be. He can't move, he can't do much of anything but wait for Scaramouche to decide what he'll do. Relief floods his mind when it seems he decides that he's worth keeping alive, that dying here would be a waste. A small smile unfolds on his face, and his eyes droop now knowing that Scaramouche is indeed, a benevolent god. The lightheadedness finally gets to him after a time, and he feels consciousness slip away from him, until he finally passes out from his injuries.

---

He wakes up having returned to normal, the armor gone off of his body, lying down in an old, dilapidated bed in a house he doesn't recognize. Quiet whispers fill his ears as he slowly opens his eyes, looking over to see a blurry image of a dusty old house and a figure standing over him. He's still in a lot of pain, there's crusted blood across his face, but he's no longer on the verge of dying.

"Ngh..."

As Tartaglia's sight comes to focus more, he sees Scaramouche tending to him, as he lies there immobile. He doesn't dare to move, quickly realizing that he's still in a bad position.

"Scaramouche...? Where am I?"

When Childe wakes up he might notice that his legs are tied up. For some reason it would not be wise to lose him at this point. Scaramouche still finds himself torn between breaking him or manipulate him so that he might be useful.

"Does that matter?"

He gazes down at the other while a small smile forms around his lips. Scaramouche doesn't want to be a god of destruction. All humans have to know is that they're inferior beings in need of guidance from a superior being like himself. And this particular human definitely needs guidance.

"I should ask you how you feel, not? But your fragile bones still looks broken and your skin still looks bruised." Scaramouche crouches down next to the other, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against his cheek. "Is there a spot on your body that doesn't hurt?"

As he comes more to, he realizes his bad position is worse than what he thought. His legs are bound, and Scaramouche is looming over him. It's not wise to make any kind of rash decisions, so Tartaglia chooses to calm himself. That malice in the puppet's eyes is still there, but yet for some reason he hasn't hurt Childe more. In fact, he's rescued him.

"Why didn't you end me back there?"

The brush against his cheek feels mocking, not at all the way he'd ever imagined that happening in his wildest fantasies. Childe looks down at the hand and back up at Scaramouche, not answering his question. Feels a bit rhetorical to even bring up where he might not be hurting...which is no where.

"You had me right where you wanted me. Don't tell me you're just returning the favor."

"Heh." Scaramouche chuckles briefly, still studying the other as if he still has to make a decision about his fate. "I have to admit, you are weak. Yet, there is no reason for me to end the lives of those who worship me."

After all, what is a god without followers?

Of course, there is an urge to finish Childe off, for his insolence, for daring to think he was having the upper hand in this situation.

"You underestimated me greatly, worm."

Scaramouche keeps stroking his cheek, the touch almost soft, almost as if he truly cares.

"You listened to the lies your heart told you and look at you now..." That is one thing he finds extremely amusing. "...you do know that loving is a sin in itself."

A part of him wants to jerk away from that touch, realizing that he admitted to a lot of things while he was dying back there. But there was also this compulsory feeling that welled deep within him, something that revered and worshipped Scaramouche and his stupid face. Not to mention that the truth finally came out, his own personal feelings about him...something he wanted to hide and push away into a dark corner that no one, not even him, would be able to find. And yet, he'd still freely admitted everything.

"You were controlling me. Making me say those things."

His retort comes out half-hearted. There's no backbone to it, because he knows what he's saying now is the real lie. Childe hates himself for it, and his first urge is to retaliate and swing his weapon right at Scaramouche's throat. But that's not a smart move and he'd surely die if he made any rash decisions now.

"What did you do to me? Going to turn me into something for you to play with? Well, I won't let you."

Now that is rich. Scaramouche starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he does.

"Oh? Is it my fault now?"

Still, he is very aware of the fact that these new powers come with certain 'perks'. And he is still not entirely able to understand them fully or control them completely. But he knows what he has heard, what he has felt. And he also knows he can abuse that. After all, it is what humans did to him, not? Because once he loved and cared, until they all decided to crush that, to take it for granted and leave him behind.

"Wasn't I something for you to play with, worm?" His hand stills on Childe's cheek. "You didn't allow me to perish as I wanted to. You wanted to fix me and keep me as some sort of...punching bag, not? Out of love?" And then he starts to laugh a little harder. "Hmm...how the tables have turned..."

The situation is getting more and more dangerous by the second. His resistance probably isn't going to get him anywhere, and he knows that if he doesn't play his cards right, he could die. He's absolutely at Scaramouche's mercy now, and maybe the only reason he's still alive is because of his confessions. He has to think, and somehow escape from this situation. Fighting, as much as he'd like to, will end in death. Childe might be fight happy, but he's not stupid.

"I..."

It's hard to say it. It's hard to confront the feelings in his heart that he wished never stirred inside of him, because look where it's landed him. But He's not sure how to approach this, especially now that the puppet knows the truth about his heart.

"...keeping you as a punching bag was never my real intent. Since you got me to admit to that much, you should know that my heart was always in the right place."

He stares back at his captor, his expression hard and unwavering.

"You though...I don't trust you to have any of my best interests at heart."

His hand drops down to Childe's chest and he presses it against the spot where his heart should be. Warm, human and oh so fragile.

"You contradict yourself a lot. You should know I am not someone you can trust, those stupid feelings are not safe with me either. I have no heart."

Still, he does have feelings. A lot of them, to be honest. Scaramouche spreads out his fingers a little, eyes focused on what his own hand is doing as he slowly moves to crouch down, hovering over the taller man.

"Do you see this as another fight? A thrill of some sort?" Then he looks up at Childe. "You are quite a thrill seeker, not?

Childe's eyes fall to the hand that presses against his chest, right where his heart is. Scaramouche could do anything to him in this position, and one of his most vulnerable and important organs is exposed for him to rip out, electrocute, do whatever he wants to it to kill him dead right here.

And it's just as the old Liyue saying goes: When someone tells you who they are, believe them. And he believes that Scaramouche truly doesn't have a heart, and that nothing is safe for him right now being around this power-crazed puppet.

"I don't know what you want me to say here. I seek the thrill of battle, to improve myself with every fight I engage in. Right now, the only battle I'm facing is the one to keep myself alive."

He doesn't know what Scaramouche has planned, and he's completely at his mercy. The fingers that spread across his chest might end it all.

There's no lie in the words he speaks, yet he knows the true lie is hiding inside his heart. So all he can do is reaching out to that lie, wrap his fingers around it and take it out. Gods could do that.

So right after Childe has spoken, he might feel something tugging at him, at times it would feel warm but it could also sting.

"You think that is the truth?"

He leans in closer, studying Childe's face, reaching out further, deeper. And eventually he felt as if he could shape something. Perhaps it was the other's heart, maybe his thoughts.

"Or is there something else?"

Scaramouche is awfully close to the taller man now, grinning broadly.

Childe's chest begins to heave up and down a little heavier, when he feels that presence tug at him, comforting him and both hurting him in a way he can't quite explain. It's like it's touching his soul, far beyond the boundaries of the mortal realm, and he feels a fear begin to form in him. He doesn't know what Scaramouche is doing to him, but what he does know is that this can really only be something a god can do, which puts him in an even more precarious position than he thought.

"....."

He looks up into the menacing face of Scaramouche, staying silent, but this power that permeates his very being is becoming overwhelming. Like he has no control over what happens to him, and his entire conscious lies bare to the other with no protection.

Like he can feel the other's fingers around his heart.

"You're toying with me again," he says between gritted teeth, "just say what you want, and stop beating around the bush. You know I hate it when any of the Harbingers do that."

"I am."

Scaramouche's grin grows wider after he has said that.

"But perhaps there's solace in knowing that you are a gods plaything." There has always been the point where he felt too much. Where he asked himself how he could find himself overwhelmed with emotions while not having a heart to harbor them properly. A long time ago he has been able to name them properly, warmth for love, hot for anger, pain for sadness. But eventually they just melted into this burning sensation in his chest, a constant reminder of a heart that was missing, that he wasn't meant to be human to begin with.

But yet, here he was, being able to feel all of that again...through a mere human.

"Does it hurt?" Scaramouche's eyes glow as he speaks, reaching out further and further, searching for that warmth he felt before. Maybe it is because he wants to take that warmth away, but maybe also because he just wants to experience it once more. Slowly he leans in closer, bringing his lips close to Childe's ear.

"That is it, not?"

And as he curls his fingers he can feel what he is looking for. That warmth.

"Heh. How I want to tear that heart out of your chest."

It burns, the uncomfortable feeling of something invading his very being, wrapping tendrils around his heart that pulse with divine power. A power that could shred him in an instant, wielded by the unhinged man in front of him, hanging on by his mercy alone. Tartaglia's chest heaves up and down as he tries to breathe, but it's suffocating, as the presence inside of him has his heart in his hands. Physically, his real heart beats faster and faster, out of fear and affection all the same, but on the inside, his heart beats as warmth pours out of it into those fingertips that wrap around it.

"Ngh...why don't you, then..."

Even in this desperate time, he taunts Scaramouche, wondering exactly why he hasn't torn his heart out. He defeated him in battle, didn't allow him to die. And now he's using his power to coax Tartaglia's dark secrets out of him, toying with his emotions, cupping the very warmth of love he has in his heart. He doesn't understand...

"Stop talking about it and do it. That's what you want, isn't it? Ngh-!!!

His body squirms underneath the power Scaramouche uses on him, to sink more deeply into his emotions and touch what no mortal could ever conceive of being able to touch. It's almost too much, and he can feel his mind break a little under the strain, no matter how much of a fight he tries to put up against it.

Scaramouche knows he has never been like this. So eager for a certain sort of revenge, so angry at humanity as a whole, so jealous of all those who had a heart, so sad because of the friends he lost. Isn't it fair to yearn for warmth? To be loved and worshipped? Perhaps the only way to force humans to do that is to ascend to godhood.

And, to be fair, that is a good question. Better not answer it and ask different questions instead.

"Do you want to die? Or do you want to worship a true god?"

Really, he wants to give in to that anger, to treat it as the powerful tool it is. But here he is, craving that warmth even more.

"I want that to be for me, and me alone."

Scaramouche is aware of how Childe is failing with his resisting. How the other Harbinger starts to crumble underneath his divine touch. And he could kill him, instead his grip tightens and when his lips cover those of the other, he is not sure if he's acting out of malice or that simple, basic, human need of love.

The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

OKAY I HOPE I WRITE THIS RIGHT DFDF

I THINK I GOT IT let me know if I didn't hahaha

U GOT IT

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sorry, he's just a little insane right now

isn't he always a little tho

I'm gonna put in a little timeskip

is mouchiebaby still using his mind control here btw

the reigns are a little bit more loose, I leave it up to you to interpretate :3

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OKAY HE IS TOTALLY BEING CREEPY TO HIM, FEEL FREE TO INTERPRET IT THE WAY YOU WANT

omg no you have to tell me what he's doing with his powers, i can't decide that for you lol

I HOPE THIS IS OKAY

lawl yeah ofc it is silly haha

he is about to do something more silly

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