Chapter Text
“You.”
The word, full of vitriol, could have melted stone.
“You beat me to it, didn’t you?” Tartaglia spat, his speech hissing and crackling as much as the electro that danced across his body.
Lumine’s gaze shifted from his empty hand to the empty, expressionless expanse of his mask. It wasn’t Childe that hovered next to the Exuvia; it was a stranger; one that was angry, volatile, and stupid. Her lip curled. “If I did have it –which I don’t— why would I bring it to you by coming back here? Did that dumb mask put your remaining brain cells to sleep?”
The Harbinger chuckled, low and dangerous. The hair on her arms stood on end, and suddenly he was in front of her. He held his hand out. “Hand the Gnosis over. Now.” When she only adjusted her stance, he made an impatient gesture. “Don’t make me take it from you.”
A foreign feeling rose up from the pit of Lumine’s stomach and crawled up her spine, leaving chills in its wake. She tightened her grip on her sword and scowled. “I don’t have it. When would I have taken it?”
“Don’t try and lie to me, Traveler.”
Tingles raced across her skin, leaving burning in their wake. The sharp, metallic smell of ozone filled the air, stripping her airways and leaving her gasping. Her sword started to buzz; the sensation intensified rapidly until a shock bit her hand and the weapon flew from her grasp. The room flashed unbearably bright and she was flung onto her back. Tartaglia pinned her to the ground, grabbing her wrists with one hand and placing the other around her neck.
The creeping feeling wrapped a cold hand around her throat and squeezed.
He leaned in. “I can sense it.” His hand trailed lower over her sweat-slicked skin, stopping once it reached her sternum. “Here.”
Her breath caught. What was he talking about? “No. Childe, I swear I don’t have it—”
Purple light sparked at his fingertips.
“Childe!” She tried to buck him off, but he held her in place.
The electro nipped at her skin.
Her muscles spasmed. “No!” She couldn’t hear herself over the storm brewing around them.
He smelled like blood.
She caught a glimpse of blue from behind the mask. Her heart wrenched.
A blinding light— thunder— a deafening crack, and— Archons, he was rifling around in her chest, his fingers working to unroot the lump that was there. He grasped and pulled, and tendons and ligaments snapped and tore. She looked down. He was holding— oh, what was he holding? Her heart? It was shining and beating and hers, and it was in his hand, and it must be her heart, but her heart also felt like it was in her throat— she couldn’t breathe— how could he do this—
The last thread broke, and eternity’s gaze narrowed upon the instant to behold the bright, searing pain that filled her soul. Her back arched. Fingers clawed uselessly at the floor. Her mouth opened, her jaw unhinged, and she drew in fruitless breaths.
The light in his hand pulsed in the silence.
One beat.
He removed his mask.
Two beats.
His uniform shifted back to its familiar grey.
Three beats.
Childe looked at her.
Air rushed into her lungs, and she screamed.