#not fatui friendly

...is to be immediately shut down, with every attempt to convince them resulting in failure.

And to make matters worse, they had humiliated The Knave, one of the strongest Harbingers. Reduced her to a bleeding, broken mess of what was an intimidating figure among the Fatui.

And to make matters worse, you were not finished.

"Now..." you stated, causing everyone else to hold their breath, wondering who was the next poor soul to feel Their Grace's wrath, "...Ajax. your family is to be placed under arrest for bring the relatives of a Fatui member."

Childe—Ajax— feels his whole world completely shatter.

He snaps his head toward you, face completely frightened and filled with some anger. His breath hitches—his hands curling into fists before he forces them to relax. The others stiffen, eyes darting between him and you.

"Y-Your Grace," he chokes out, voice rough. "My family—they’re civilians. They have nothing to do with the Fatui—"

You raise a hand.

Silence.

His mouth clicks shut.

"Ignorance is not an excuse, Tartaglia," is all you say as a response.

Childe starts to hyperventilate. He was somewhat wiling to face the same beating that the Knave received if it meant keeping his loved ones away from your anger, but you were dragging them into this? They, who had made sure to render tribute for you and prayed for your protection for as long as he remembered?

He couldn't comprehend this.

What happened to you?

Why were you going to lock away some of your faithful servants? Hell, his siblings were not even young enough to warrant jail time!

Tartaglia drops to one knee—not out of respect, but sheer desperation. His hands are pressed flat against the floor, fingers digging into the marble as if he could carve his plea into it.

"Your Grace—please—" His voice cracks. "They're children. My brothers, my sister—they don't even know what the Fatui is."

The Tsaritsa finally stirs, her frost-laced gaze flickering toward you—but she says nothing. She knows better.

Pierro’s jaw clenches.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand.

"Should've thought of that before pledging your life to a traitor’s cause."

His devastated look made you more satisfied.

But, just like Peruere, you were not finished.

"You want the truth? You're nothing more than an heinous, immoral bastard. One who's so obsessed with fighting to realize he ain't the top dog around. You are but a small fish in a big pond,A but you are too stupid and braindead to acknowledge it. In fact, you're an brutish animal. All I need to do is point at a random person and you'll go fight it immediately with no question whatsoever. Fights are like dogtreats to you, because that is what you are: a filthy, disgusting, mentally deficient and useless leashed dog who follows every simple command abecause he has nothing better to do with their pathetic, meaningless and insignificant life. One who would do anything to please its master because without them they are nothing more than a fucking cockroach."

That was the last straw.

Losing every kind of rational thinking that he had, Tartaglia went to try and lunge at you, were he not restrained by Capitano holding him in his strong grip. He grits his teeth, his gaze locked onto you as he's immobile. His shoulders tremble—his face pinched in suppressed fury.

"Control yourself," Capitano growled, trying to make the brash Eleventh stop his temper tantrum. But it was futile. Childe kep trying to escape his grip, refusing to accept that this wasn't a situation he could just simply brawl his way out of.

He attempts to activate Foul Legacy, but strangely, nothing happens.

Unknown to him, Foul Legacy absolutely refused to appear.

The reason?

It feared you.

How could it not? You were the Creator. The Most Powerful Being in all of existence. With a mere snap, you could undo and recreate Teyvat an indefinite amount of time.

It would never dream of fight you.

No matter how hard Ajax tried, Foul Legacy would never allow him to wield its power against you. It did not want to experience annihilation at your hand.

The last thing he lets you see before he's knocked out by a hard hit from the Captain is his clenched fists and the muscles twitching in his jaw—a desperate attempt to hold back an endless wave of rage.

"...I deeply apologize for this, Your Grace," mutters Capitano as he places Tartaglia's unconscious body on the ground. Pulcinella looks fully embarrased by this whole ordeal. Why on Your Name did he allow this foolish brat join the Fatui in the first place again if all he did was bring problems with his battle obsession?

The room is quiet for a moment, until...

"Your Grace."

Pierro speaks—his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You do not even bother with looking directly at him, "I would carefully watch my words if I were you, Pierro."

Pierro goes still. The air in the throne room grows thick with tension, the remaining Harbingers holding their breath. Finally, Pierro bows his head—just slightly—and steps back.

"...Understood."

His tone is clipped—controlled. But the slight defiance in his posture doesn’t go unnoticed.

You smile.

Good.

Let him stew in it.

"Tsaritsa..." the Cryo Archon pays careful attention to your words. For some reason, they do not feel...malicious, "The Cryo Gnosis. Hand it over. You are no longer the Cryo Archon, thus you no longer have the right to keep it."

The Tsaristsa stares at your open palm—gaze locked on it like a hawk. Her eyes flicker to your face, then back to your hand.

A muscle flickers in her jaw, and you can practically hear her teeth grinding together as she struggles to keep up the illusion of composure. But the subtle trembling in her shoulders—the barely hidden denial and fear in her eyes—those betray her. She looks as if she might refuse. For a split second.

But then...

She slowly reaches out. And the Gnosis appears, before floating towards your hand.

As you hold the Cryo Gnosis in your hands, you adress the remaining Harbingers "If I were you, I would surrender immediately before I make what happened to Khaenri'ah a mere temper tantrum." The Harbingers go completely still—their breath caught in their lungs as they watch you hold the Tsaritsa's gnosis in your palm. The silence is so thick, you can practically hear the rapid beating of their hearts as the Harbingers struggle to keep their composure in the face of such a chilling threat.

"Kneel, if you don't want to end up like those two idiots. You too, Tsaritsa." Tsaritsa hesitates—her fingers twitching at her sides, her pride warring with the cold reality of defiance. But as she meets your gaze—unflinching, absolute—she understands: there is no winning this.

Slowly, she sinks to her knees, her gown pooling around her like spilled frost. The sight of their Cryo Archon kneeling—submissive, gnosisless—is enough to make even the most defiant Harbinger falter.

One by one, they quickly follow.

The message is clear.

Disobedience will not be tolerated again.

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You view how The House of the Hearth is wrecked and demolished before going up in flames as a last minute request from you. As Crucabena's home of horrors burns to the ground, the children who once lived there are escorted, terrified and screaming as the building collapses in front of them. Fire engulfs furniture and decor, smoke filling the air with choking, acrid fumes. Children cry and cling to each other, their eyes wide with panic and terror.

You sigh in disappointment. It would take a long time before they realize the huge favor you did for them, how they were now spared from beingjust mere tools used by their "Father". Speaking of which....

"I told you, Peruere. I told you I would make you watch."

Peruere looks somehow more broken than before after Dottore healed her. Her face is pale beneath the grime, her eyes hollow. She can only be on her knees, her broken body trembling with a mixture of shock, fear, and grief as Fontaine's Gardemeks restrained her. She looks at the kids—the young ones she once cared for, now being ushered out.

"Your... Your Grace..." She croaks, her voice hoarse. "They're just... innocents...this was...their home..." Peruere tries to push herself up—to stand on her good leg—but she can't. She's weak—broken—and she knows it.

She doesn't look at you anymore. Her gaze is fixed on an empty spot on the ground, and even through all the dust and smoke, you can see the tears glistening in her eyes.

You crouch down in front of her, gripping her chin with bruising force to force her gaze back up to yours.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, worm."

Her breath hitches—her pupils dilating with terror—but she obeys.

Her stare is blank. Empty. Like all the fight has been drained out of her.

And you smile.

Because this?

This is true victory.

You lean in close—your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper:

"You were never their Father."

"You were never anything at all."

Then—you stand—leaving her there.

Broken.

Alone.

Just as she always feared she would be.

But, it appears that this day would get more better for you.

"FATHER! YOUR GRACE!"

You smile happily as the Gardes and Gardemeks stop two magicians and one diver from reaching you. The three "children" introduced in Fontaine are restrained just as quickly, but they refuse to give up.

Lyney's voice cracks as he thrashes against the Gardemek's grip, his magician's gloves smeared with soot from the crumbling House. "Your Grace—please—we didn't mean to—!"

Lynette, ever silent, doesn't speak. But her wide, terrified eyes say enough—her ears pinned flat against her head as she watches you stand over their broken Father.

Freminet—who has always been the softest, the most introverted—sobs openly, his diving helmet falling to the ground. "She—she protected us—!" His voice is muffled, hysterical. "Why are you—why?!"

Arlecchino's breath rasps—her shattered body jerking weakly toward them, her fingers scraping bloody trails across the stone floor.

"...D-don't..." Her voice is barely audible. "Don't... look."

She doesn't want them to see her like this.

Broken.

Defeated.

But they do.

And the horror in their faces is delicious.

But you're not satisfied, like always.

"Gardes, let it be known that these three are to be executed for conspiring with the Fatui. I want every trace of this organization to have never existed. And while you're at it, make her watch as well."

They.

Cannot.

Breathe.

This makes their already distressed minds lose their sanity even worse.

Lyney’s knees hit the ground as he struggles against the Gardemek’s grip, his voice raw with desperation. "Your Grace, PLEASE—she wasn't perfect, but she saved us! She took us in when no one else would—!" His gloved hands clutch at the air, as if he could reach through the distance and shake sense into you. "If you hate her so much, then punish us instead! We’re her sin—not her!"

Lynette, trembling violently, finally finds her voice—her usual calm shattered into fractured pleas. "She—she loved us...!" Her ears flatten against her skull, tears streaking through the ash on her face. "She was the only one who ever did—!"

Freminet chokes on his own sobs, his helmet crushed by one of the Gardes as ordered by you. "Y-You don’t understand—Crucabena was far worse—!" His voice cracks into a wail. "She was kind—she was good to us—PLEASE—!"

Peruere jerks violently at their cries, her shattered body convulsing as she tries and fails to crawl toward them. Tears beginning to form in the eyes of what used to be one of the most feared Fatui.

"L-Look away—" she rasps, her voice a shattered thing. "DON’T—DON’T WATCH—!"

You stomp your foot on her head. The impact is brutal—her skull slamming against the stone with a sickening crack. Blood sprays from her nose, her mouth, her split brow—a grotesque halo of red spreading beneath her face.

Her body jerks once—a spasm of agony—before going terrifyingly still. But she’s not unconscious. No. Her fingers twitch. Her breath wheezes—wet and ragged. And her eyes, though glazed with pain, remain open—staring blankly at the ground as tears mix with the blood pooling beneath her.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even try.

Because she can’t. Not anymore.

The damage is done. And the only sound left is the distant, fading screams of her children—and the slow, ragged breaths of a woman who has lost everything.

All the fight is long gone from her.

Even if she did, it would be futile. The power of the Crimson Moon do not answer. The Balemoon Rising wing reimained dormant, and her transformation, Cinder of Two Worlds' Flames seemingly ceased to be.

It was you, without a doubt. You most likely used your divine powers to nullify her own, reducing her to a weak and pathetic husk.

The woman who wielded fire like a second heartbeat now lies utterly powerless beneath your boot, bleeding and broken without even the comfort of divine fury to cling to.

Peruere doesn’t scream for help from gods who no longer acknowledge her. She doesn’t beg again. She just lies there—bloodied, broken, forgotten —as reality sinks in:

Her children are gone.

Her orphanage is no more.

Her god does not care.

She doesn’t curse you or beg again. She just… exists there, half-dead on the ground, realizing with terrifying clarity:

She was never meant to win.

The universe itself has abandoned her.

All so it could help out its own Maker.

The End...