[A strange substance oozes from the other man's chest. Childe's heart thrums with bloodlust, pieces of a puzzle trying to slot together. He was meant for this; he was a weapon.
Teucer was dead, and so was his childhood self, lost in a swirling pit and a sea of stars.
The stranger's arms sweep down towards his, an attempt to pin him and keep him in place. Childe is quicker, stepping out of the way just enough to avoid the grab.
The Harbinger doesn't see the leg swinging at him. It sweeps one of his legs under him, solid. If there was pain, it's beyond his ability to register, adrenaline pumping through his system, revenge the only thing on his mind. The move staggers him nonetheless. His Fatui mask, once firmly pinned into his hair, clatters to the floor as he tries to regain his footing, stumbling back a bit.
Childe launches himself at the shorter man once his feet find solid ground again, snarling. Stepping forward with a large upward swing of his blade, the force behind the blow enough to splatter the weaker, more wobbly parts of his shaky conjuration on the floor. Water seeps down his arms, trailing from his blades. His control of the water in his hands is failing. The vision on his hip flickers.]
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Teucer was dead, and so was his childhood self, lost in a swirling pit and a sea of stars.
The stranger's arms sweep down towards his, an attempt to pin him and keep him in place. Childe is quicker, stepping out of the way just enough to avoid the grab.
The Harbinger doesn't see the leg swinging at him. It sweeps one of his legs under him, solid. If there was pain, it's beyond his ability to register, adrenaline pumping through his system, revenge the only thing on his mind. The move staggers him nonetheless. His Fatui mask, once firmly pinned into his hair, clatters to the floor as he tries to regain his footing, stumbling back a bit.
Casper's voice doesn't reach him. He's done talking.
Childe launches himself at the shorter man once his feet find solid ground again, snarling. Stepping forward with a large upward swing of his blade, the force behind the blow enough to splatter the weaker, more wobbly parts of his shaky conjuration on the floor. Water seeps down his arms, trailing from his blades. His control of the water in his hands is failing. The vision on his hip flickers.]