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Childe held the treasure hoarder up by the neck. His feet dangled above the dead bodies littering the ground, all of which refused to talk. All of which felt the wrath of Tartaglia when he was angry.
Tartaglia’s dead eyes bore into the treasure hoarder’s terrified pupils. There was no amusement on the harbinger’s face, none of the sick pleasure he would normally have after conquering a large group in battle. No, this Tartaglia was dead serious. His brows furrowed, his lips thin.
“Purple hair, short, bluish purple eyes.” He didn’t ask, he demanded.
“I swear, I haven’t seen him, I promise. I would tell you if I had.” The treasure hoarder could barely talk with his windpipes being crushed by one man’s bare hands, yet Tartaglia demanded an answer. He had to say something, no matter how disgruntled or terrified his voice may be. “I have nothing to gain by keeping it from you.”
Tartaglia tilted his head to the side, his eyes still locked on those of the man he was strangling. He refused to even blink. “Now when did I say anything about me looking for a ‘he’?” He asked, voice stone cold.
The treasure hoarder blanched. It was clear on his face that he knew something, something he wasn’t saying. Tartaglia squeezed tighter.
“Fine, I’ll talk.” the treasure hoarder was barely able to get the words out.
Tartaglia dropped him to the ground. He landed in a heap, gasping for breath. Before he could fully catch it, Tartaglia stomped down on his stomach, locking him in place.
“Where is he?” His eyes darkened with every word.
“I don’t know. I only know where he’s going.”
“Spit it out. I’ve wasted enough time with you.”
“There’s a treasure hoarder base due north from here. About a day's walk. He’s trying to seek refuge with them.”
“Scaramouche doesn’t ‘seek refuge.’ What does he really want?”
“I’ve told you everything I know. I swear. Have mercy.”
“I don’t do ‘mercy’.” Tartaglia summoned his water spear, stabbing it straight down into the chest of the man below him. There was barely a scream before he stopped twitching. Tartaglia didn’t give the massacred camp a second glace before walking in the direction of the Treasure Hoarder base.
Due north for one day. He could make it there much faster. He couldn’t last another day knowing Scaramouche was still out there, on the run.
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Childe entered the treasure hoarder base with his weapons at the ready. He was surprised to find the place completely quiet and empty. Not a breath could be heard despite his own.
His eyes searched the vastness of the entryway of the base, when his eyes landed on something, or rather someone out of place. A near mutilated corpse of a treasure hoarder, laying on the ground. The blood surrounding it was fresh. Whoever killed them was still here.
And likely, it was the puppet he was looking for.
He wandered down the hall, passing corpse after corpse, following them like a trail laid out specifically for him. Almost anyone else would have turned and ran at the sight of the first one.
The trail seemed to lead to a small room near the back of the base. He pushed open the door, cautiously, weapons at the ready. The room was nearly completely black, execpt for a short figure near the opposite wall, facing the opposite direction to Tartaglia.
“So, you found me.” A very familiar voice spoke.
“Did you expect anything less?”
Scaramouche just chuckled at the response.
“Where is it?” He demanded
“It’s already inside of me.”
“As I would’ve expected.”
Scaramouche turned around slowly. The two made eye contact before the gap between them was quickly closed, as if it was never there to begin with.
Scaramouche threw his hat to the ground without a care for its safety. And lips were on lips before either of them could really realize what they were doing.
Childe’s hand caressed the shorter man’s back as he lifted himself up to near equal heights. It wasn’t long before Childe opened his mouth, allowing Scaramouche inside. The speed at which their mouths moved tried to compensate for all the time they spent apart.
When they finally parted, they didn’t say a word, they only held each other in the darkness of the room.
The first words that came out of Scaramouche’s mouth were quiet. “I love you.”
Childe was surprised, he was expecting anything but that. “You’ve never said that to me before.”
“I never had a heart before.”
They stood in silence for a moment longer.
“I missed you.” He looked down at Scaramouche, who was still shrouded in darkness. “Are you going to come back?”
“You know I can’t. This is my birthright. I could conquer the world with this.”
“I thought we promised to do that together.”
“Then leave with me.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Scaramouche chuckled. “Don’t take my line.”
Scaramouche pulled himself from Tartaglia’s warm embrace back into the coldness of the dark room.
“Scaramouche.” He didn’t say anything. “Scaramouche, wait.”
“Don’t bother, nothing you say will make me change my mind.”
“She said you could have it.”
That caught his attention. “What?”
“We need you Scara, I need you. You can keep it, just come back to us.”
Scaramouche was silent. Completely still. He didn’t know how to respond.
“If you don’t, you’re just another one of the archons. One of the enemies. Is that really what you want.”
“How would you know what I want?” He spat angrily, breaking his silence.
“Because I know you. The only reason you want this is to spite your mother. You’ve done that. You’ve proven you’re better than her. You’ve proven that you’re not a failure or a mistake. Isn’t that what you wanted.” He took a step closer to Scaramouche. “If you ascend to Celestia, you’re no better than the rest of them. You won’t conquer the world, you’ll just become a part of her plan. You’ll be just as trapped under her thumb as you were under Ei’s. She won’t let you win.”
“And you will?”
“Well, that’s the goal, isn’t it.” Childe took another step, wrapping his arm around Scaramouche. He didn’t object, but he didn’t embrace it either.
“And what happens once we win?”
“Then we conquer the world…together. Just like we planned.”
“You really are perfect you know that.” Scaramouche looked up, gazing into Childe’s dead eyes.
“Hey, you’re the one who led me to you with a trail of dead bodies.”
Scaramouche laughed. “Well, they don’t call it a ‘trail of blood’ for no reason.”
“Did you just make a joke? Wow, I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Shut up, Ajax.”
“Make me.”
“I might just do that.” Scaramouche stood on his tip toes and kissed him.