Chapter Text
Another day. Another visit. By now, the gates leading down to that hellish place have become dreadfully familiar. Never did it ever get easier. The carved head on the front of the enormous door looms ominously and glares down like it knows the deepest thoughts of all who enter and those select few who get to leave. Wardens at the entrance barely spare a glance to a frequent visitor approaching, merely confirming his identity before allowing him past. He always came for the same reason, after all… The low, sinister groan of metal rings out as the mechanism opens the gate like the jaws of an unspeakable cosmic horror, metal spikes filling the seam like razor-sharp teeth, leading into the darkness beyond that swallowed all hope. Each footstep and tap of a cane sounds heavier than it should, echoing through the cold halls. A dull ache in the knees hardly stops his stride on a path he’d learned by heart. If anything, it only makes it more measured. Cautious. And for reasons that went beyond an old man’s arthritis. For this visit was going to be the last.
Walking through the Shackling Prison seemed to stretch on for hours and hours. Going back up all those stairs and platforms will be even harder… Every glance of sharp, grey eyes holds meaning and alertness. It stops on each moving bridge, memorizing the location of each control panel, each teleportation device, even if the latter are by no means reliable if something happens. No one pays him mind aside from offering occasional greetings. But despite the respectful nature of those interactions, every bit of unnecessary attention tightens the coil of unease in his stomach. None of them is aware. But paranoia makes it feel like every wayward look at him carries suspicion… Trying his best to dismiss the anxiety and keep a cool head, he heads further down. Deeper, and deeper, into the bowels of the Prison where only the worst of the worst are kept.
Darkness doesn’t bother him. It never did since he became a host to the ravenous Shadow. It rumbles quietly in the back of his mind, sensing his own agitation. Not loud enough to be bothersome yet, thankfully. The seal has done its part… A debt unpaid. Hopefully not for much longer. The lower he went, the more hostile the surroundings became. Damp, cold walls. Some even covered in algae that somehow found their way here from the surface. The air was heavy. Smelled dank and stale. Not a glance is spared at the cells and the prisoners within as he passes them. None of them was familiar to him or plainly worth the pity. His mind was on someone else. And yet, when he came to a corridor that led to his destination, he took a different turn. Ducked into a nook like it’s nobody’s business. Lying in wait and scanning the area in search of a target like a predator on the prowl. Adrenaline slowly builds, urging his heart into a faster pace. Senses sharp and body coiled in preparation, he waits with bated breath. He’s seen this enough times to know what was about to happen. One brief look is thrown at his wristwatch that lags a few minutes behind. It’s almost time for a shift change. As the full hour hits, he is still waiting. Wardens walk past, not noticing him lurking in the shadows. All of them go to meet the guards who were about to take over. All except for one. A rookie. This poor, still nervous girl who was on her first days when he visited a month prior. And who was still a bit scatterbrained on his last arrival.
A churning sensation invades his gut. Targeting a weak link like some sick opportunist… Despicable. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Sure enough, the newbie warden walks past his hideout in a hurry. Not paying attention whatsoever as her mind is focused on catching up with her fellow guards. So much so she doesn’t see her jade abacus detach from her waistband. Or a pair of grey, pink-tinted eyes silently seeing her off with a silent apology. Once she disappears, the quiet visitor leaves his hideout. Adjusts the brim of his hat and walks back towards his original path like he didn’t just set the first step on the road to what the Xianzhou Alliance considers one of the Ten Unpardonable Sins. A crime of the highest order. No other way left. No turning back. Only a march forward…
With his heart thundering like a wardrum, he makes his way towards the cell of his destination, knowing that what he’s about to do will change everything. One way or another. Halfway towards it…
He already hears it.
A breath. Weak and labored. Harsh wheezing of a man on death’s doors. Ragged inhales and heavy exhales accompanied by a barely audible groan at the beginning of each. That alone makes his throat tighten before he even stands before the forcefield that separates him from the individual within the cell. And the sight breaks his heart all over again when he sees the person inside. Heavy shackles clamped on his wrists and ankles. Chains wrapped around his arms and torso like vines, holding onto the body with a merciless hold, digging into the flesh. Once elegant clothing is in blood-soaked tatters. Rusted-brown and more fresh, red stains are everywhere. Only old, soiled bandages cover his chest beneath the coat that was shredded open with no regard for the garment. A mop of deep, dark blue matted hair tipped red conceals the prisoner’s face from all eyes. But it needs not be seen. His identity was never a question.
“... Yingxing…”
La Mancha’s voice rings out - quiet and wavering - as he places the palm of his prosthetic hand on the forcefield, watching it light up faintly at the contact. Despite the countless horrors he’d seen throughout his life, this never got any easier… Seeing an old friend who once held so much fire in his now dampened spirit was like a cruel stab to the heart. At first… Nothing happens. No reaction to the name. Not for a few, agonizing seconds that make the lump in the former Galaxy Ranger’s throat grow. A quiet rustle of metal. Yingxing finally lifts his head. Slowly, excruciatingly so, his gaunt, ashen and blood-smeared face comes into view with a sickly sheen upon his brow. A glint like a flame pierces through the dark as one, mara-filled eye opens halfway, the flickering beastly pupil failing to focus on the other’s heartbroken visage. To think… this used to be the most brilliant of General Huayian’s disciples. A Furnace Master of the Luofu with so much potential and talent. Now? Clad in torn rags that remained of his attire, emaciated and covered in countless scars that spoke of unspeakable torment… He barely looks human anymore… And by the looks of it, he isn’t treated like one either. It tears at La Mancha’s chest as much as it infuriates him. He may have done things he never should have. Unforgivable in the eyes of so many. He spelled his own doom when he and the High Elder touched the power of Abundance. But at the end of the day… he was still a good man. And although he became a criminal through foolish actions fueled by grief and denial, the least he deserved was to be treated like a person. Not a monster… But in the face of his crimes’ severity, no amount of pleading had swayed the Ten Lords’ decision.
“Yingxing…”
He repeats, trying not to lose hope and swallowing thickly when he sees neither life nor recognition in those hollow eyes. Every visit made it clear… Yingxing was in a steady decline, looking worse and worse with the passage of time. Burned out and broken by the harsh punishment and solitude. Day by day losing touch with reality. Succumbing to the madness of immortality…
“... You don’t even recognize me anymore, do you…”
It is stated, not asked… And unsurprisingly, the disgraced master craftsman doesn’t reply. Not with words, not with an expression. The only sound is a wet rattle emerging from within his chest. Not that long ago, a visit from an old friend was still a brief solace in the depths of pain and despair. But now, looking into those burning, yet dead eyes… La Mancha knows this might be the end. A shaky sigh escapes him, acceptance already creeping in that he might not be able to ever repay the debt he owes anymore…
“... Wh… Where-...”
His head snaps up suddenly at the barely audible voice that sounds less like words and more like a death rattle. Yingxing can still speak… Barely. It sounds - and likely felt - like he was breathing through shards of glass.
“H- He… pr- omised… me…”
It always comes back to the same thing… Always thinking of the High Elder. During every visit, Yingxing had to ask at least once about the Vidyadhara’s whereabouts. Always mentioning some promise that was made. And every time, La Mancha held back the answer. Because the truth would not help… Truth about what had befallen Imbibitor Lunae might only drive the blade deeper. Destroy what slivers of sanity Yingxing might somehow still be clinging to. But… there is no comforting lie that can be told either…
“... I don’t have an answer for that, Yingxing…”
Another wheeze comes. Yingxing’s head hangs on his chest as he can no longer keep it up. Taking a breath to steady himself, La Mancha speaks up again. Finally addressing what he truly came here for.
“Truth be told… I came here to say goodbye, Old friend.”
Silence. Even the harsh wheezing seems to quiet down at that.
“I have people on my tail. People who’d see me dead, I’m afraid… The more I visit Luofu, the bigger the chance I will be discovered. I can’t risk it… You know I can’t. I’m sorry, Yingxing… but this will be our last meeting…”
Silence again. Broken only by a broken gasp. Biting down on his lip, La Mancha continues.
“... However… My offer stands.”
Yingxing’s amber eyes look up again, lids fluttering with tremendous effort to keep them open. His head drops, though. Too heavy. Too weak… the Ranger grits his teeth and decides on the final, reckless act. The point of no return has come. The forcefield ahead flickers and vanishes when he uses the abacus on the sigil outside the cell to disable it. The moment he steps inside, he might be noticed by the surveillance. Each cell tracks the vital signs of prisoners, so if he goes in, his rapid pulse might be picked up too. Chances are it will be dismissed as a guard entering for whatever reason but right now, he started the countdown to inevitable disaster. At this point, he couldn’t care less though. It doesn't matter anymore. Whether alone or not… he will leave Luofu for good tonight. Briskly, La Mancha steps in and the smell immediately hits him like a brick to the face. The stench of sickness saturates the air… But he doesn’t let it stop him. Hands - both real and metal - cup Yingxing’s hollow cheeks and hold his head up. His skin is cold and clammy to the touch. Yet despite this, the glassy appearance of his one visible eye screams “fever”.
“Look at me, Yingxing. Please… Just for a minute…”
“... Ahh…?”
The fiery gaze is still unfocused but for once, the tortured craftsman seems to try, even if words fail him again. Hanging onto everything said. Briefly grounded by the firmness of the first touch in way too long… And that pained, miserable look makes the lump in La Mancha’s gullet return. Larger and more suffocating. Completely ruining the steadiness of his voice.
“I can still get you out of here. And this is the last time I ask you to consider…”
Yingxing stares hollowly at La Mancha and barely manages a faint moan followed by a series of raspy inhales. Then, finally, he speaks, broken up words laced with self-loathing.
“N… No… M- Must… atone-...”
But this time, the former Galaxy Ranger doesn’t back out like he did before. He doesn't give up jusr yet. If it comes to this, he will respect Yingxing’s choice, even if it’s tearing him apart… but damn him if he doesn’t try this last time.
“There is no atonement in the eyes of your people, Yingxing! There is no repentance for what you’ve done. Only eternal punishment… Until there is no more of you left in there… And even if you are free, the consequences will always follow in your footsteps. The weight of your deeds will be a heavy burden you must carry regardless. But it doesn’t have to be like this… You can have your penance. But let me at least lessen the pain of it…”
The craftsman goes quiet again. Be it exhaustion or consternation. But the flicker of his eyes - down towards the enchanted nails embedded in the metal wrist - sparks a tiny ember of hope. He knows… Even if he is holding onto the last threads of awareness… He knows. He still remembers the reason for the insistence. And that encourages La Mancha to keep talking, even though he knows they’re likely running out of time. Even though every word carries a threat of tears slipping.
“Now… I’ll ask one final time, old friend. Do you want out…? All you have to do is ask… and I’ll do it.”
His voice finally cracks as he speaks the final sentence, knowing a warden could get here at any moment. Yingxing's mouth opens and a tiny breathless sound comes to be in the back of his throat before La Mancha places cool, metal fingers on the feverish, crusted lips.
“Don’t force yourself to speak. Just-... Just nod… Nothing more... Please… Just one… little nod…”
He didn't even realize the tears were already there, nor how much his hands were shaking until he slowly let go of Yingxing’s face, still inwardly begging for this silent “yes”. If he declines again… As painful as it is, that would be his decision. The guilt of respecting which La Mancha will carry for the rest of his days, always haunted by the image of this brilliant man wasting away and losing the last of himself in this cold, unforgiving cell… Yingxing stares blankly at him for a long moment - too long for the urgency of their situation - before letting his head slowly fall. And La Mancha, already braced for refusal to accept his help, felt his throat burn with despair, when-...
Yingxing weakly lifts his head again. Just barely, fighting a losing battle against gravity. Then lets it fall again.
The heart of that Old Wolf lurches with sudden hope and disbelief. That wasn’t rejection. It was wordless acceptance. A hesitant plea.
That was the nod he has been begging for…