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Celestia is no more. Although the defeat of the Heavenly Principles has yet to be announced, it is something an elder vampire like Zhongli can feel deep in his bones. So, Snezhnaya’s ploy has worked. However, he does not dare rejoice at the news. Not yet. Not when all his hopes could still be shattered.
When the Tsaritsa lands right behind him, he does not flinch, nor does he turn around, even though he can tell she’s here right away. There is no telling what the future will hold, now that the beings who ruled over them for centuries have been overthrown. If they one day have to fight each other, he’d rather have her believe his senses have grown dull with age.
“Morax,” She calls.
Even though she tries to sound calm and composed, there is no hiding the tiredness in her voice. It does not surprise Zhongli. A battle of his scale must have not left her unscathed.
This time, he acknowledges her presence and turns towards her. However, the carefully honed words of greeting he has prepared for her evade his mind as soon as he lays eyes on her.
She is holding her Eleventh Harbinger in her arms. The young warrior is barely breathing and blood coats his ginger hair. His left arm is bent at an old angle. So many fresh wounds adorn his skin that Zhongli cannot even distinguish the old scars he knows to be there. He is so weak that it is next to impossible to perceive his energy, as it is overshadowed by Tsaritsa’s overwhelming aura.
Several lifetimes of knowledge tell Zhongli that Tartaglia will not survive his wounds.
“I cannot turn him. He has grown too attached to you to form a sufficient bond with me.” The Tsaritsa informs Zhongli. She does not even try to conceal the reproach and annoyance in her tone. “Do with him what you deem best.”
With that said, she lowers Tartaglia on the ground, then turns into a white bat as soon as she is done and takes her leave. The moment she is gone, Zhongli runs to the injured Harbinger and gently cradles him in his arms.
He feels so small, so fragile against him. It is unbecoming of the proud Snezhnayan warrior Zhongli has fallen so desperately in love with. He hates to see him like this, almost devoid of life.
He remembers their last meeting all too clearly. The ghost of a kiss on his cheek has haunted him ever since. One last battle, and then I will return to you for good, Xiansheng. I promise.
And return to him he has, but in what a sorry state…
“Ajax…” Zhongli sobs, utterly devastated.
Turning him is not an easy decision, contrary to what the Tsaritsa makes it out to be. It isn’t hard to believe the reasoning behind her action. She believes that Tartaglia will remain loyal to her to some extent, even if she isn’t the one who makes him a vampire.
However, she is not seeing the full picture as Zhongli is. She does not even suspect the strength of his feelings for her dying Harbinger.
If he turns Ajax, the Harbinger would not become something akin to his Adepti. No, the love Zhongli holds for him would give birth to a new elder vampire. The Seven would become Eight.
However, this is not what troubles Zhongli. He would happily step down from his position and offer all of his powers to Ajax, if that meant he would live. The bloodthirst isn’t what worries him either. He knows his beloved would adapt to it pretty well. Killing is almost second nature to him, after all.
Not, what really distresses Zhongli is that he has to make that choice in his stead. He wishes he could just ask him what he wants, but the Harbinger is too weak to remain conscious, yet alone talk. He knows how much Ajax loves his little brothers and sister. If he turns him, his beloved will have to see them grow old and wither, a pain Zhongli understands all too well.
But if he doesn’t do anything, Ajax won’t see them grow at all.
Zhongli shakes his head. He cannot keep hesitating, not when Ajax doesn’t have much time left.
He has to turn him, now.
“Ajax, my love. Please, be strong for me.” He whispers in between his tears.
What comes next makes Zhongli sick, but there is no way around so. So, he tenderly cups Ajax’s face in his hands, then snaps his neck clean.
The cracking noise makes his stomach churn. If the turning fails, then Zhongli will have to live with this burden, with the reminder that he killed the love of his life with his own hands, for all eternity. At the very least, the Harbinger was too out of it to have felt anything, although it is but a small comfort.
He drags Ajax’s now lifeless body even closer to his chest and floods it with his elemental energy. The process is a daunting, exhausting one, but Zhongli doesn’t hesitate to direct all of his power toward the fledgling he wishes to create. His whole body protests, unwilling to part with such an important part of its strength, but Zhongli ignores it and keeps offering everything he has to Ajax.
He is rewarded for his effort when pain erupts in his neck, caused by two sharp fangs.
His veins burn as Ajax feeds from him, but the relief he feels outweighs the pain by far. A glance tells him that the Harbinger’s body is done reshaping itself. All his wounds have closed, and his arm isn’t twisted anymore. Content noises fall from his lips as he feasts on Zhongli’s blood.
The elder vampire smiles at that and runs his long fingers through Ajax’s dirty hair to encourage him. His unbridled enthusiasm brings Zhongli relief. He has seen some newborns struggle with their first meal, to the point of almost starving, and so he is glad his beloved will not have to go through something similar.
However, the second Ajax’s bite relents, fear settles in his unbeating heart. Zhongli does not know how to face him, but still, he looks up and meets his stare, even though he can tell will never recover if he is met with anger or disgust. After what he has done, it is the least his beloved deserves.
More tears threaten to escape Zhongli and an apology dangles on the tip of his lips, but the second he truly looks at Ajax, he is blinded by his smile.
“You saved me.” The Harbinger murmurs in an awe-filled voice. “Thank you, Xiansheng.”
“But for that, I had to…”
“Turn me. Yeah, I guessed that part when I couldn’t stop myself from drinking your blood. It’s okay. I planned on asking you to do it eventually anyway. I couldn’t leave you to spend all of eternity alone now, could I?”
Zhongli barely has time to recover from this wonderful, heartfelt confession that Ajax is already closing what little distance keeps them apart. He kisses him a bit clumsily, still not used to having fangs, but Zhongli does not mind. It’s endearing, if anything.
Their bond chooses that exact moment to finally click into place. They both gasp, taken aback by its intensity. The love and trust Ajax feels for him are quick to overwhelm Zhongli. He buries his face against his lover’s shoulder and holds him tight.
They have done it, he realizes. Ajax is really his to cherish until the end of time.
Nothing in his long undead life has ever brought him greater joy.