Deep beneath the earth, in a chamber that reeked of malice and poor ventilation, Aether—Prince of the Abyss—stood before his assembled forces with the satisfied expression of someone who'd just figured out how to use a microwave.
"Two hundred hilichurls," he said, gesturing grandly at the battalion before him. "More than enough to deal with one overrated pretender."
The hilichurls grunted in what might have been agreement or indigestion. It was hard to tell with hilichurls.
Aether had spent weeks planning this assault. Haru had embarrassed him publicly, stolen his sister's attention, and—worst of all—made him look incompetent in front of his own forces. This would be his revenge: a surgical strike that would expose the fraud for what he really was.
"The target is weak," Aether continued, pacing before his troops like a general addressing his army. "All flash, no substance. When faced with real opposition, he'll crumble like—"
CRASH
The chamber doors exploded inward, and two Abyss Mages tumbled through in a tangle of robes and panic. They rolled across the floor, bounced off a stalactite, ricocheted off each other, and finally came to rest in a heap at Aether's feet.
"PRINCE!" the Pyro Mage wheezed, his mask askew. "Emergency! Catastrophe! The end of—"
"—everything we know and hold dear!" the Hydro Mage finished, somehow managing to be even more dramatic while upside down.
Aether stared at them. "Did you two just... tumble through my door? Like some kind of slapstick comedy routine?"
"There wasn't time for dignity!" the Pyro Mage protested, scrambling to his feet and immediately tripping over his robes again.
Before Aether could demand an explanation, another figure strode through the doorway with considerably more composure. The Electro Hypostasis Lector moved with the measured dignity of someone who had never in his existence tumbled anywhere, thank you very much.
"Your Highness," the Lector said, inclining his crystalline head. "We have a situation."
"Clearly," Aether replied, watching the Hydro Mage attempt to untangle himself from what appeared to be his own sleeves. "What kind of situation requires my mages to abandon all semblance of competence?"
The Lector gestured, and another figure entered the chamber—a hilichurl, but something was wrong with it. Red markings covered its body like veins of corrupted energy, pulsing with an alien light that made even the Abyss forces uncomfortable.
"We found this creature near the eastern borders," the Lector explained. "It bears markings we've never seen before. The energy signature is... familiar, yet wrong."
Aether examined the hilichurl more closely. The red markings weren't painted on—they seemed to be part of the creature now, woven into its very essence. When he reached out with his Abyssal senses, he felt something that made his skin crawl.
It felt like the Abyss, but corrupted. Twisted. As if someone had taken their power and run it through a broken mirror.
"There's more," the Pyro Mage said, finally managing to stand upright. "We've detected disturbances in Liyue's leylines. Something powerful is interfering with the natural flow of energy there."
"The signature matches this creature's markings," the Lector added. "Whatever created these red-marked hilichurls, it's active in Liyue."
Aether felt a chill that had nothing to do with the underground chamber. Liyue was where he'd been conducting some of his more... sensitive operations. If someone was interfering with leylines there, they might discover things he'd rather keep hidden.
"But that's not the worst part!" the Hydro Mage announced, finally freeing himself from his robes and immediately getting tangled in them again. "Tell him about Mondstadt!"
"Mondstadt?" Aether's attention snapped back to the immediate situation.
"Your battalion," the Pyro Mage said, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "The one you sent to test the fraud's power... they were defeated."
"Defeated?" Aether's voice rose dangerously. "By Haru?"
"No, Your Highness. By an army of these red-marked creatures. Hundreds of them, organized and equipped beyond anything we've seen from normal hilichurls. They wiped out our forces and are now marching on Mondstadt itself."
The blood drained from Aether's face. "Mondstadt? Where my sister is currently residing?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
For a moment, the chamber was silent except for the sound of the Hydro Mage trying to figure out which way was up.
Then Aether exploded.
"WHAT?!" He grabbed the nearest Abyss Mage—the Pyro one—and lifted him off the ground. "You're telling me that my plan to embarrass some pretender has potentially put Lumine in danger?!"
"It would appear so, Your Highness," the Lector said with the tone of someone delivering news about the weather.
Aether hurled the Pyro Mage across the chamber, where he crashed into a formation of hilichurls and started another tumbling sequence that would have been hilarious under different circumstances.
"MOVE!" Aether roared at his battalion. "All of you! March on Mondstadt immediately! Engage these red-marked creatures before they reach the city!"
The hilichurls began filing out with the enthusiasm of troops who'd just been voluntold for a suicide mission.
"And you," Aether pointed at the Lector, "prepare a portal to Liyue. If someone's tampering with leylines there, I need to—"
"Your Highness!" The Hydro Mage had finally achieved vertical status. "What about Dvalin?"
Aether paused. In all the chaos, he'd forgotten about the corrupted dragon he'd been slowly bringing under his control. Months of careful manipulation, of nurturing the dragon's pain and anger, of turning it into a weapon against Mondstadt...
He looked toward the distant chamber where Stormterror waited, then toward the portal that would take him to Liyue and whatever threat was emerging there.
His sister was in Mondstadt. Potentially in danger because of his own actions.
"Dvalin can wait," he said finally.
The Lector's crystalline features somehow managed to convey surprise. "Your Highness, surely the strategic value—"
"I said he can wait!" Aether's voice echoed through the chamber with enough force to make the stalactites tremble. "My sister's safety takes precedence over everything else."
As he strode toward the portal chamber, leaving behind months of careful planning and his prize corrupted dragon, Aether couldn't help but reflect on the cosmic irony of the situation.
He'd wanted to prove that Haru was weak and unworthy of Lumine's attention.
Instead, he might have gotten them both killed.
Somewhere in the distance, Dvalin roared in confusion, wondering why his new master had suddenly stopped visiting.
The eastern gates of Mondstadt had seen better days. Hell, they'd seen better decades. The ancient stone was cracked and weathered, the iron reinforcements showed rust spots that the city guard kept meaning to address, and the whole structure had a distinct lean that the engineers insisted was "within acceptable parameters."
It was not the most inspiring place to make a last stand.
But it was what they had.
Two guards stood at the gate's base, checking their equipment for the fifth time in ten minutes. Marcus—not the Marcus who'd died in the failed rescue mission, but Marcus Weber, a twenty-three-year-old who'd joined the Knights specifically because it seemed like steady work with good benefits—adjusted his grip on his spear and tried not to think about his mortality.
"You know," he said to his companion, "I always thought I'd die in bed."
Thomas Brennan—who'd specifically requested assignment to the most dangerous post available after learning his brother wouldn't be coming home—checked his sword belt and laughed bitterly. "Yeah? Surrounded by beautiful women and good wine?"
"Nah, nothing that romantic. I just figured, you know, old age. Maybe some boring disease. Something quiet and private where I could complain about my aches and pains right up until the end."
"That's... surprisingly practical for a death wish."
Marcus shrugged. "My mom always said I was a realist. She also said I'd never amount to anything, so maybe this is just proving her right in the worst possible way."
Thomas was quiet for a moment, staring out at the approaching torchlight that marked their doom. "You ever think about what you'd say? If you could say one last thing?"
"Like famous last words?"
"Yeah."
Marcus considered this seriously. "Probably something profound about the nature of heroism and sacrifice. Something that would inspire future generations and make people remember that we stood here when it mattered."
"That's pretty good."
"What about you?"
Thomas grinned, and for a moment he looked like his brother had in the old days, full of optimism and bad jokes. "I was thinking something more like 'I can't believe I'm about to die for overtime pay.'"
They both laughed, the kind of desperate laughter that comes when you're too tired to be properly afraid anymore.
Behind them, Jean had climbed onto a supply crate so she could address the assembled defenders. The remaining Knights of Favonius, adventurers who'd answered the call, civilian volunteers who'd refused to evacuate—maybe sixty people in total, facing down an army.
Her left arm was still in a sling from the morning's disaster, and blood had seeped through the bandages around her shoulder, but she stood straight and proud as she looked out over her people.
"Everyone!" Her voice carried across the courtyard, cutting through the nervous chatter. "Listen to me!"
The defenders turned toward her, and Jean felt the weight of every expectation, every hope, every desperate prayer that someone, somewhere, had a plan that didn't end with all of them dead.
She didn't.
But that had never stopped her before.
"I won't lie to you," she began, her voice steady despite everything. "What we face tonight is beyond anything we've prepared for. The enemy outnumbers us ten to one. They've already proven they can defeat our best efforts."
A murmur ran through the crowd. This wasn't exactly the inspiring speech they'd been hoping for.
"But," Jean continued, raising her voice, "we are not fighting for victory tonight. We are fighting for something more important than victory."
She gestured toward the city behind them, where lights still burned in windows and families huddled together in their homes.
"Behind us are the people who trusted us to stand between them and the darkness. Children who should be sleeping peacefully in their beds. Parents who worked honest jobs and paid their taxes and believed that someone would be there when the monsters came calling."
Her voice grew stronger, carrying the weight of absolute conviction.
"They cannot fight. They cannot run. They have nowhere else to go. So we will stand here, and we will hold this ground, not because we can win, but because they need us to try."
Marcus felt something stirring in his chest—not hope, exactly, but something fiercer and more stubborn.
"Every second we buy them is another second for help to arrive," Jean continued. "Every inch of ground we make the enemy pay for is an inch closer to their homes that these monsters will never reach. We may not see tomorrow's sunrise, but by God, we will make sure others do!"
Thomas straightened his shoulders, his hand moving to his sword hilt with newfound purpose.
"I have served with the finest people I have ever known," Jean's voice rang out over the courtyard. "I have watched you risk your lives for strangers, sacrifice your comfort for duty, and choose to do what's right even when it cost you dearly. Tonight, we will prove that those choices mattered."
She drew her sword one-handed, the blade catching the torchlight as she raised it high.
"So when the enemy asks who stood against them, tell them we were the Knights of Favonius! Tell them we were the defenders of Mondstadt! And tell them that they had to step over our bodies to reach our people!"
The cheer that went up wasn't the roar of an army—they didn't have enough people for that. But it was fierce and defiant and full of the kind of desperate courage that had built civilizations and toppled empires.
As the defenders took their positions along the walls and gates, Marcus felt that strange peace that comes when you've accepted the worst and decided to face it anyway.
"You know what?" he said to Thomas. "I think I've got my last words ready."
"Yeah? What are you going with?"
Marcus hefted his spear and grinned. "Tell my mother she was wrong. I amounted to something after all."
The hilichurl army emerged from the darkness like a tide of malevolence and poor personal hygiene. Red markings pulsed along their bodies in synchronized patterns that hurt to look at directly, and their weapons gleamed with an otherworldly sharpness that suggested someone had been taking equipment maintenance very seriously.
On the walls of Mondstadt, the defenders gripped their weapons and prepared to sell their lives dearly.
"Here they come," someone whispered.
"Remember," Jean called out, "make every shot count. Aim for—"
She never finished the sentence.
Because that's when the second army appeared.
They came from the north, pouring over the hills like a brown and tan avalanche of confusion. More hilichurls, just as many as the first group, weapons raised and voices lifted in their traditional battle cry of aggressive gibberish.
For a moment, everyone—defenders and red-marked attackers alike—just stopped and stared.
"Oh, come on," Marcus said, voicing what everyone was thinking. "Seriously?"
The red-marked hilichurls seemed just as confused as everyone else. They'd been marching toward what they expected to be a simple massacre, and instead found themselves facing... competition?
Thomas squinted into the darkness. "Are those... are those regular hilichurls?"
"They look regular," Marcus agreed. "You know, relatively speaking."
"But why are they—OH SHIT THEY'RE FIGHTING EACH OTHER!"
And indeed they were.
The moment the two hilichurl armies spotted each other, they completely forgot about Mondstadt and launched into what could only be described as the most chaotic inter-species civil war in recorded history.
Red-marked hilichurls clashed with regular hilichurls in a spectacular display of violence that would have been terrifying if it wasn't so completely absurd. Battle cries mixed with confused grunts as neither side seemed entirely sure why they were fighting, but were absolutely committed to doing it anyway.
A red-marked hilichurl swung a massive club at a regular one, who ducked and responded with a confused "Upa?" before stabbing his attacker with a rusty sword.
Two regular hilichurls had cornered a red-marked one and were pointing at his markings while making animated gestures that clearly translated to "What the hell is wrong with your face?"
A group of red-marked hilichurls were trying to maintain some kind of formation, but kept getting disrupted by regular hilichurls who wandered into their ranks looking lost and asking for directions.
On the walls, the defenders watched in stunned silence.
"Is this really happening?" someone asked.
"I think," Jean said slowly, "we should just... let them finish."
"Should we be taking notes?" Thomas wondered. "I feel like we should be taking notes."
Marcus was leaning against his spear, watching a red-marked hilichurl try to explain something to a regular one through interpretive dance. "You know what? I'm not even disappointed we're not getting our heroic last stand. This is way more entertaining."
The battle raged on below, a masterpiece of confusion and accidental comedy. Regular hilichurls kept trying to join the red-marked formations, apparently assuming they were part of the same army. Red-marked hilichurls kept attacking their would-be allies, leading to even more confusion.
At one point, a group of regular hilichurls started following a red-marked commander around like lost ducklings, mimicking his movements and battle cries. The commander, apparently too focused on the battle to notice, ended up leading them in a charge against his own forces.
"This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen," Thomas said.
"And that includes the time Diluc tried to serve drinks at the tavern while completely drunk himself," Marcus added.
"That was pretty weird."
"Not this weird, though."
As the battle continued, it became clear that the regular hilichurls were actually winning through sheer confusion. The red-marked ones were organized and disciplined, but they couldn't adapt to an enemy that didn't follow any recognizable tactics or even seem to understand what they were fighting for.
"You think we should help?" someone called out.
"Help who?" Jean replied. "I'm not even sure who's on whose side anymore."
"I think the regular ones are on our side?" Thomas ventured. "By accident?"
"Are we sure about that?"
"No. No, I am not sure about anything anymore."
And so the defenders of Mondstadt stood on their walls, watching two hilichurl armies tear each other apart in what was simultaneously the most important battle in the city's recent history and the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever witnessed.
In the distance, dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink that seemed almost mockingly beautiful given the chaos below.
Marcus leaned against the battlements and sighed. "You know what? I'm starting to think this whole 'heroic death' thing is overrated."
"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "Maybe we should just go get breakfast instead."
"Can we do that? Just... leave?"
"I mean, they seem to have things handled down there."
Jean listened to her soldiers debate the etiquette of abandoning a battle that was apparently fighting itself, and decided that leadership sometimes meant knowing when to admit that the situation had moved beyond all reasonable expectations.
"You know what?" she announced. "Everyone stand down. Let's see how this plays out."
And with that, the great siege of Mondstadt turned into the great spectator event of Mondstadt, as defenders and citizens alike gathered to watch two armies of monsters tear each other apart for reasons nobody understood.
It wasn't the heroic last stand they'd prepared for.
But honestly?
It was a lot more fun.