Prince Aerion Targaryen’s younger twin sister refuses the title of princess—because she refuses the life that comes with it. Instead, she chooses steel, sweat, and battle. Though she is kept from the wars, sheltered behind silks and gold, all she has ever wanted is to ride into real combat, to taste glory firsthand, to earn her place through fire and blood rather than be married off as a political prize.
To Aerion’s fascination, she is everything he is: fierce, hungry for victory, drawn to violence and conquest. To their family’s terror, she is his mirror—only more disciplined, more dangerous in her restraint, understanding that true power lies not in reckless impulse, but in control. When an offhand joke compares them to Aegon and Visenya, fear flashes across their father’s face—for he knows what such legacies mean.
Content Warning(s):
Detailed depictions of combat and blood, physical injury, emotional distress, intense sibling conflict, manipulation and emotional pressure, secret identity, unresolved ending, smut, targest, siblings incest.
Additionally: King Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen, Good Parent Maekar I Targaryen, Dyanna Dayne loves her kids.
Chapters:
1 - What? Not Clever Enough?
2 - Scarcely Worth It
3 - Come Out, Come Out, Little Knight
4 - What Happened to Your Hair?
5 - Blood of Two
6 - A Future Promised in Glass
7 - A Dance of Dragons
8 - Of Darkness and Light
9 - The Stars Stand Witness
10 - Joined as One
Author’s Note! (Updated)
Hi! Thank you for reading through everything. I know Aerion is not mean enough, thus not entirely in character, but I need him to make more sense at times. I have one more chapter (a timeskip sequel) planned, but this closes the arc for the time being.
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being shoved into a locker isn't fun. i feel like most people haven't been shoved into a locker and id just like to tell yall that it's a scary experience.
Sixteen contestants, four circuits, ten sponsors, and a competition that's been going on for years. What can go wrong?
A lot, apparently. Ei and Thoma experience the worst heartache they've ever known. Scaramouche has to choose between what's right and what's love. Diluc accuses Kaeya of murder, Xiao and Venti fuck to escape reality, Albedo goes crazy trying to protect the only family he has left—and the entire time, the world is watching and laughing over the chaos as sixteen lives are ruined beyond repair.
(Or: A Mario Kart-inspired AU in which everything goes wrong)
scaramouche confronts ei, and xiao and venti prepare for the races. with barely any time left before the first race, the world is watching celestia.
Additional Mario Kart details that might be useful to know for the context of the story:
Each racing circuit in Mario Kart consists of eight people driving through three laps (each lap is identical), and the only thing that matters for official ranking is what place you come in at the end of the third lap (aka end of the race).
A full Mario Kart race consists of characters competing in four race circuits.
Hope this helps :)
The Celestial Tower simulates the sounds of Teyvat at all times.
It’s mainly because the floating fortress is so far removed from the ground that the Coordinators agreed that something had to be done to make it less clinical, less quiet, less detached from reality—and so a surround speaker system was set up in almost every room, even the bathrooms.
In the early mornings, starting around three, an automated sound of chirping birds plays out. It’s just loud enough to sound natural, just quiet enough to not draw attention and make contestants wonder where those birds are coming from. Around mealtimes, the distant sound of cooking food plays out, usually taken and muffled from a speaker inside the actual Celestial Kitchens, and at the turn of all hours of the day, there’s the sound of an antique clock chiming to match the number of hours.
Signora and Scaramouche were the ones in charge of arranging those hourly chimes. Given Signora’s utter uselessness for any task assigned to her that she doesn’t already want to do, Scaramouche was faced with the responsibility of organizing it all.
As the youngest Coordinator present, not even a full-fledged one and merely an Administrative helper, he went all out.
The hourly chimes’ volume increases as one approaches the top of the tower, all meant to insinuate that there’s an actual bell that rings twenty-four times a day—when in reality, it’s nothing but the workings of the same surround system that Scaramouche masterminded.
It’s for this exact reason that when three quiet chimes ring out from the room Scaramouche is pacing in, he’s confident that it’s exactly three in the morning.
I told Kazu I’d be out by now, he thinks, biting down on his nail. I was supposed to get this over with quickly.
But it’s impossible to do anything quickly when his mind is overwhelmed by the raw fear of the last time he met with Ei: when blood coated his fingertips and they were both screaming for their lives, when she slammed the door in his face and told him to never return, when he begged her, pleading, crying, wailing, to let him back inside what used to be their shared home.
Scaramouche feels sick when that memory resurfaces.
He glances at the door his big sister is behind—marked by a golden nameplate that Scaramouche selected himself—and hesitates.
He’s been standing here in the corridor of the East Wing, fist raised and about to knock on her door, for over an hour.
And yet, every time his knuckles draw near, he finds himself stopping.
What if she’ll yell at me? his mind wonders. What if she’ll shove me to the ground and glare at me the way she did that night?
But then, the other side of his brain reasons out that that’s impossible: that Ei is family: that she turned him away before because it was in a time of chaos for all of them, and that she probably regrets it, probably wishes she never kicked Scaramouche out of her life, probably misses her little brother every single day the way he misses his big sister.
Knock, Scaramouche tells himself. Just knock on the door.
He brings his fist to rap on it the way he’s already tried half a hundred times.
Then, without him even touching the pale white wood, it opens on its own—and there stands Ei, stunning as ever, an exhausted look on her face as she tries to push past him.
When she bumps into Scaramouche, they both gasp.
“Ei,” the boy whispers, eyes wide, imploring.
“Kunikuzu…” the woman trails off before she can say his full name, but even hearing part of it from her lips, gentle and soft in all the ways Scaramouche imagined his big sister would say it, prompts the boy to throw himself at her, and Ei’s name falls from his lips in a sob as he embraces her for the first time in six years.
It’s tender, for a moment.
It’s warm, for a moment.
It’s been so long since Scaramouche was last hugged by anyone in his family, and for a few seconds, his heart is truly content.
Then, the remnants of sleep are forced from Ei’s disposition, and she’s pushing him off her, shoving him to the ground for the second time in six years.
“What the fuck,” she snarls, eyes cold, “are you doing here.”
“I—I just wanted to see you—”
“To do what?” she asks, and Scaramouche hates how her beautiful face is contorted in rage. “To screw with my mind on the second-last night before the races? To sabotage my performance if I get chosen?”
“N-no!” Scaramouche blurts, and he doesn’t care about how loud he’s being. He stumbles to his feet, pleading. “Ei, I’m sorry about what happened, but—”
“You’re sorry, Kunikuzushi?” she laughs bitterly. “It was bad enough seeing your face when I got here, but for you to be waiting outside my door like a stalker—”
“I’m not stalking—”
“And you had the audacity to hug me, like we’re some normal family instead of whatever the fuck you and your father did six years ago when the two of you—”
“I didn’t do it with—he acted alone!” Scaramouche shouts, panic rising like bile in his throat.
“Well, you certainly didn’t do anything to stop him!” Ei shouts back, and all semblance of sleep has vanished from her figure. She stands tall, imposing, glorious like her mother used to be, and she slams her fist against the wall so hard that something cracks.
Then, it’s silent.
Two birds chirp, and Scaramouche realizes that it must be exactly 3:04:37 in the morning because that was the precise time he programmed the first sounds of birds to go off, a number he decided upon by pure chance but kept committed to heart ever since.
Those two sounds, quiet but unbelievably distinct, somehow freeze both Ei and Scaramouche, and they’re left standing there in shocked silence, caught under a spell.
Then, a door opens.
“Ei?” a girl groans, and Scaramouche’s eyes narrow when he sees who it is.
“Sara,” his big sister whispers, immediately going over to the woman and embracing her. “Sara, I’m so sorry for having woken you. Go back to sleep. This is one of our last chances to rest.”
“But who…”
Sara peeks over Ei’s shoulder to see who it was that was causing such a commotion, probably expecting either Thoma or Childe, and her eyes blink in confusion when she catches sight of Scaramouche’s chopped hair, identical to her own.
Immediately, she stiffens.
“Ei,” she whispers, clutching the fabric of her sister’s sleepshirt the way Scaramouche wishes he could. “Ei, what’s he doing here? H-he—”
“Shh, Sara,” Ei whispers, embracing her sister once more. “I’ll get rid of him. Just go back to bed, ok?”
Scaramouche hates the way they both agree to that: as if he’s nothing but a nuisance, even lower than a raccoon digging through their trash: something to get rid of so that it never returns, something they don’t want in their homes or their lives. Scaramouche’s head drops when he sees the tenderness in Ei’s eyes as she soothes Sara back into her room, how she gives her sister a final hug before bed (the way Scaramouche always wanted, the way Scaramouche always imagined), and he starts to think that he was a fool for coming out here.
“Please leave,” Ei says, stiff as she turns to him. Scaramouche wishes she would just ask if he was okay, look close enough at him to realize that he’s crying—but that’s too much, isn’t it? For a boy like him, he must truly deserve nothing.
“Please,” he whispers, and a darkness opens in his heart. He doesn’t know who he’s pleading to, what he’s pleading for, but tears keep streaming down his face, and Ei does nothing to acknowledge them.
“I have nothing to say to you…Scaramouche.”
And that’s the final dagger in his heart: hearing his big sister, one of the only people in the world to know his true birth name, refer to him by the moniker he selected for these Celestial Races. It’s a sign of utter indifference, complete abandon for their shared past together, and Scaramouche realizes that this is Ei’s way of saying goodbye, of saying that she’ll never accept him into her life the way he wants.
The pit of darkness grows bigger.
“Please,” he repeats. “Please. Please, please, please—”
A door slams shut. Scaramouche didn’t even hear Ei cross the hall, too focused on the absolute despair crushing his heart and the way his soul is being torn apart, and he collapses to the floor, sobbing.
“Please,” he repeats, whimpering.
He wants her to come back.
He wants her to open the door.
He wants her to at least check on him, even if it’s with annoyed eyes and only to say something like “go away, you’re making too much noise and I’m trying to sleep”—but no doors open. No one checks up on him.
Heart ripped in two, Scaramouche crawls back to the Compass Room to where Kazuha is waiting for him.
The second his white-haired boyfriend sees him, Scaramouche is being wrapped in an embrace.
“Scara,” Kazuha murmurs, eyes wide and concerned and fearful. “Scara what—what did she say to you? Are you—listen, it’ll be okay, it’ll—”
Except it won’t be okay. The only family left in Scaramouche’s life has left him, and he can't remain in denial about how alone he is any longer.
“She—she—”
There’s no way to explain it to Kazuha. Hell, Kazuha doesn’t even know what ripped him and Ei apart. He probably thinks that it’s just a petty sibling squabble, an issue untainted by blood and death and violence, that Scaramouche has attachment issues and just wants to be accepted into a family that disowned him out of spite.
“Please,” Scaramouche chokes out, desperately trying to stop the darkness inside him from swallowing him whole. He looks up at Kazuha and doesn’t care about how pathetic he must look, teary-eyed and snot-nosed. “Please, Kazu. I—I need time—I need her to forgive me—I—I—I can’t let her get chosen for tomorrow’s races—please, Kazu, please, please, I need time—”
Another bird chirps, and Scaramouche’s hysteric mind vaguely registers that it must now be 2:11:07, but the information is useless.
“I…I can’t mess with the drawings,” Kazuha whispers, his voice soft. “You know that, Scara. Ningguang will—”
“Please,” Scaramouche sobs out, and the way his boyfriend’s body slumps is a sure indicator that he’s giving in, that he’ll rig the lots to guarantee that Ei isn’t selected for tomorrow's round of races, that he’ll make sure Scaramouche has a little more time to throw water over these flaming, burning bridges.
“Okay,” Kazuha whispers, pulling Scaramouche closer to his chest. “Okay.”
And it’s a warm embrace, a loving embrace, but it’s nothing like the comfort Scaramouche is seeking. Ei’s arms, after all, were always warmer. Ei’s smile, after all, was always sweeter. And before blood stained their once-loving bond, those two, similar of mind and similar of blood, always connected truer than anything Scaramouche has ever felt with Kazuha.
The cockpit of the tank is small, but Venti is smaller. He sits on a military-style armrest with his slim legs draped over Xiao, not quite sitting on the man’s lap but certainly doing his own version of it, and the heat of this kart is turned off but Xiao still feels warm, very warm.
“...should be better off with this one, since it’s a bit more forgiving with its off-road handling.”
“Yeah,” Xiao chokes out as the kart makes the clicking sound to signify that all doors are locked, doing his best not to focus on how Venti isn’t wearing his usual white sweatpants, how he’s instead wearing pajama shorts and some leggings, how the pajama shorts are riding up to flaunt how defined Venti’s legs are, how Xiao could lean his head forward and rest on them, how—
“Xiao, you ready? The race is about to start.”
A flush breaks across Xiao’s cheeks. Venti knows, he has to know what this pose is doing to Xiao—but there’s nothing else that can be done. This Dry Bones Teyvat exclusive kart is the only one in the entire set of seven that doesn’t have a second seat for partners—but it’s also the one most suited to Xiao’s racing style, according to Venti.
(As if Xiao has a racing style. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume that Venti chose this kart solely because it means that they have to sit like this.)
“Okay, you ready?” Venti chirps, wrapping his slender fingers around a grab handle to prepare for the burst of speed Xiao’s car will doubtlessly surge through.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The Mario Kart technology of the circuit seems to hear him, then, because the race track immediately lights up. Xiao blinks once, twice, thrice, and realizes begrudgingly that this is a track he’s never done before.
“You changed it?” he asks, prying his eyes away from Venti’s smooth legs.
“Oh, did I? Whoops, ehe.” Venti grins the impish little grin he always dons whenever he knows he’s done something to irk Xiao, but the boy isn’t actually upset. This is the second-last night before the races begin—technically the last day, since it’s well past midnight and he’ll be in a race kart thirty hours from now—and he knows that he’s still not ready. The circuit he’ll drive on tomorrow will be one he’s never seen before, so getting in extra practice now will hardly hurt him.
“Airship Fortress?” he asks when he sees the name highlighted in bold, black letters above the Mario Kart banner. “You ever done this one, Venti?”
The boy shrugs.
Then, the timer begins.
3, the screen in front of him reads in a neon orange, square letter.
2, it counts down, and Venti’s legs tense, a hand finding itself on Xiao’s shoulder. “Start pressing down on the accelerator,” he urges. When Xiao hesitates for a second, Venti squeezes and says “Now!”
1, the screen reads with an accompanying ring of a bell—and then Xiao’s car is blasting forward.
“Alright! We got the speed boost!” Venti laughs as Xiao is automatically bumped up into third place, no fourth place, no fifth place, no—
“Xiao, you gotta drift. You see how those computer-controlled players are pushing past you? It’s not because they have better speed or whatever. They’re just handling better. C’mon.”
Venti slips his hand around the steering wheel and guides Xiao’s finger to a button he didn’t realize existed. He presses down on it, and then swerves the car—but instead of going off-road the way Xiao’s nervous mind expects it to, the car simply leans into the movement, making a sharp turn that moves Xiao up from seventh place to fifth.
After they let go of the button, Xiao’s car gets a speed boost.
Now, he’s in fourth.
“Holy shit,” the boy mumbles. “I didn’t even know those buttons existed.”
“Yeah,” Venti says, laughing. Xiao is suddenly grateful that the car is so small because it means Venti’s sweet chuckles echo off the metal sidings of the tank-kart. “You’re not the only one.”
A small smile fits itself across Xiao’s lips.
When Venti first suggested this—riding with Xiao inside a kart to teach him the basics instead of simply instructing him through one of the built-in radio feeds, Xiao thought that the most that could come of this were perhaps some tips on posture. With Venti right next to him to show him how to do all these advanced tricks, though, Xiao is finally starting to understand what all those weird terms really mean: turbo start, drift, sliding, and everything else that’s wholly impossible on a regular car.
“This map is pretty straightforward,” Venti says, pouting. “I don’t see any shortcuts, so just try to cut corners. Drift behind that computer—” he points at the kart hovering in third place, “—and you should get a little boost.”
Xiao follows Venti’s instructions perfectly, and suddenly, he’s a place up.
The rest of the map is roughly the same: Venti tells Xiao what to do (often suggesting tips that Xiao never has, never would have, and probably never will think of on his own) and Xiao executes, bringing him to first place before the end of the first lap. Protecting his spot for the next two cycles is easy, then, because he’s going through the exact same circuit and now has Venti’s wisdom to aid him through obstacles that would stump him before, such as:
Look at the car screen map instead of the windshield whenever someone uses the item that triggers black ink to be spilled over the windshield, and do so until the ink gets naturally cleared away,
If you’re driving behind someone who has a bomb but hasn’t thrown it yet, maintain maximum distance at all costs (because getting caught up in the explosion of the bomb will take more time to recover from than simply driving a longer route),
Keep an eye on the car screen map because it contains a constantly-updating list of which racers have what items, and use that information to steer clear of anyone who has a red shell in their inventory.
It’s a lot for Xiao to learn in one sitting, but with this newfound knowledge, he feels like he might genuinely be able to hold a candle up against the other racers. After all, he just got first place on this test drive—surely, he’ll be able to get similar results for the real deal, right?
Then, Xiao remembers that it’s just past three in the morning.
Then, Xiao remembers that the only racers on the circuit out here are him and Venti.
Then, Xiao remembers that the Mario Kart technology auto-generated a handful of karts for him to race against to simulate a real race but that his actual competition is a hundred times better, stronger, smarter.
This one victory probably means nothing compared to what he’ll have to face in thirty hours.
“Hey, don’t get down on yourself,” Venti says, patting Xiao’s cheek. Now that the race is over, the hatch of the tank has opened and a neon sunlight shines down onto the two of them, illuminating them like stars in a play. The bright lights make Venti’s lip gloss shine, and it forces Xiao to confront his desire to kiss this boy for the thousandth time in this past week, forces him to resist them.
“Yeah,” he mutter, straightening his legs as he climbs out of the tank. He pulls him up without jumping (mainly because the Dry Bones Teyvat sleepshirt he’s wearing is sleeveless and he wants Venti to look at his muscles) and then helps Venti up. “But I’ve still got a lot to improve on.”
“Maybe,” Venti giggles, sitting down on top of the tank and letting his feet dangle down. “But you don’t have to do it my way, y’know.”
“Huh?”
Xiao slips his racing gloves off, eyebrows creasing downward.
“Well,” Venti says, “I’m just saying that not everyone needs to do my approach. We’ve been practicing together for, what, six days? And you still can only barely beat the computerized players?”
Xiao’s cheeks flush. He knows Venti doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but that still sounds embarrassing.
“You might want to try a different approach is all. The brute force method works for me because I know I can stay in first place for the duration of a race no matter what gets thrown at me, but maybe you wanna try laying low and then stealing one of the top spots? Like…”
Venti sets a palm flat against the surface of the tank. He twists two of his fingers back and one forward.
“Imagine you try staying in, like, third or fourth place for the first two laps. But then, right at the end of the final lap, you…” He pushes all three fingers forward and shows one of the two that had been lagging behind overtake the other one that had been pushing ahead. “You steal a victory. It’s cheap, but it’d work.”
“There’s no guarantee, though,” Xiao says. “What if I can’t overtake in time?”
“It’s just an idea. But if you had a way of guaranteeing victory with a bunch of red shells—oh, or maybe some green shells? You’re pretty good at aiming those, Xiao—you could give yourself a strong chance to take the lead without being targetted at all.”
Xiao opens his mouth to respond, to talk about why he doesn’t think that racing style would suit him at all (mainly because he lacks the skill for it), but then a loud humming sound interrupts their conversation.
Immediately, Venti knows where to look.
The elevator platform, designed by Wario Industries, is being lowered.
Other racers, Xiao realizes, wary. Other opponents.
Next to him, Venti purses his lips.
The two of them slept early specifically so that they could wake up at midnight and practice their racing in private. Other racers tend to finish up on the practice circuits by eleven at the latest, so who...
Xiao’s eyes flit to the clock inside his kart, and he’s stunned to see that it’s already three in the morning. Where did all the time go? he wonders. How did we lose track? Was it when we woke up? When we were messing around before practicing? Each race shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes, and we've only done a handful…
Xiao groans when he sees the man standing on top of the descending platform, unmistakable with his dark hair and amber eyes.
Of course.
Three A.M. is a ridiculous hour for most contestants, but there’s only one person who’d be up at this hour.
“We should have put pillows under our bed,” Venti huffs. “Or left a misleading note that said we were running away or something to throw him off our trail.”
Xiao can only sigh.
It’s not like Venti and Zhongli actually dislike each other, it’s just that their personalities don’t quite suit each other. Where Venti believes in loud parties and blasting music, Zhongli prefers glasses of wine and gentle opera. Where Venti likes to fire red shell after green shell at the edges of the circuit edges, testing them in vain to see how many hits they can take before he’ll do actual damage, Zhongli views these circuits as something to be respected, treated well, driven on cautiously and properly.
And for some reason, it absolutely infuriates Venti that Zhongli has yet to put up a genuine fight against him.
He’s holding back, Venti has complained to Xiao countless times, legs rested high against a wall. He thinks none of us can beat him so he never actually tries on the practice circuits. What a douche.
“Xiao, Venti,” Zhongli says stiffly, nodding his head at the two of them once they're all on the same ground level. “We were wondering where the two of you might be.”
“We?” Venti asks.
“Y-yeah!” a familiar voice says, and Xiao is surprised to find that his other roommate Chongyun is also here.
Great, he thinks. They might be able to shoo Zhongli away, but Chongyun, too? Not a chance. So much for any one-on-one training.
“What, abandoning your calls with Xingqiu to come see us?” Venti teases, sliding off the tank to go greet them. It seems he’s realized that private practicing won’t be happening. “If I were him, I’d be offended.”
Immediately, Chongyun’s cheeks flush. The walls of their south wing are thin, and every single one of them has heard his late-night calls to his boyfriend. Especially the naughtier ones…
“X-Xingqiu is resting up for the announcement tomorrow,” Chongyun says, ears red. “We’re gonna facetime for it.”
At that, Venti turns.
“The announcement?”
“Yeah!” Chongyun says, grateful for a distraction from his sexscapades. “Or today, I guess. Ningguang said it’s gonna be around eleven, and that’s gonna be like five in the morning for Xingqiu, so he’s resting up.”
Xiao and Venti look at each other, lips pursed. Finally, Xiao is the one to ask the question on both their minds:
“What announcement?”
“The—oh—” Chongyun blurts. “You were both asleep this afternoon when the Coordinators talked about it over the loudspeakers. Guess you were sleeping so you could come down here at nighttime, huh?”
“Just tell us what we missed,” Venti huffs, crossing his arms.
A soft smile falls across the blue-haired boy’s face. There might be bad blood between Zhongli and Venti, but everyone gets along with Chongyun.
“Nothing much,” he says. “It was just revealed that not all sixteen of us will be racing at once.”
“Huh?”
“They’re gonna draw lots today. Eight out of the sixteen of us will be racing. And I guess for the next race, it’ll be the eight who didn’t get to race, and we’ll just have a tournament like that…”
Venti and Xiao completely stop.
“Seriously?”
“There’s no way—”
“Why would Ningguang—”
“This is stupid—”
They speak over each other in their frustration, and suddenly, this all seems pointless. If only eight out of sixteen racers will have the privilege of racing, then it’s most likely that only one of them will be able to compete. If it’s Venti, things should work out okay, but if it’s Xiao…
“Ah, don’t get upset, though! The second race is going to be really soon, so…”
“Yes, we shouldn’t take our frustrations out on Ningguang,” Zhongli says thoughtfully, lifting a hand to his chin. “If anything, the three of us are better off practicing. That is what you were doing, correct, Xiao? Practicing?”
“Four of us, Zhongli,” Venti says, sighing. “You forgot to include yourself again. And really? Are you actually offering to race against us?”
Zhongli opens his mouth, then shuts it.
“I was considering it…but with the races happening tomorrow, I suppose it’s best if I leave my kart in optimal shape.”
“The shock absorbers will prevent both you and your kart from taking any damage, ever,” Venti mutters, “But fine, I get it. You just want to watch the rest of us race so you can scheme up a plan to defeat us, right?”
A faint smile appears on Zhongli’s lips, bordering on a smirk, as he utters his next words:
“Oh, I don’t think I need to be watching for that.”
Xiao’s hand shoots out to find Venti’s arm, and he’s thankful because if not for that immediate, reassuring touch, Venti might have strangled Zhongli for such a comment.
“O-okay,” Chongyun says, doing his best to break the tension. He looks at Xiao with panicked eyes, hoping for help, but Xiao can’t mediate the way Chongyun can nor does he want to smooth things over right now when it's clear that Zhongli only said that to piss Venti off. “Why don’t—why don’t the three of us race, then? I haven’t slept yet, so I’ll probably head to bed soon, but a single race couldn’t hurt, right? Zhongli can…watch? Is that okay?”
“What a wonderful idea,” Venti mutters, already stalking off to the warehouse with all the karts. “Let’s show Zhongli what we’re actually made of, yeah, Xiao?”
Xiao and Chongyun look at each other again. Zhongli is stalking over to the viewing window, a place that’s practically his own now since so few other racers (other than Albedo, maybe) use it.
“Why did Zhongli have to say that…” Chongyun mutters quietly, following Venti.
Xiao can only shrug. He’s more focused on Venti’s words: Xiao doesn’t think he has the skills to “show Zhongli what he’s made of,” the skills to do well at tomorrow’s official race, the skills to succeed in this competition…but that’s what practice sessions like these are for, right? If he trains hard over the next thirty hours, he’ll be able to win, right? If he continues to learn everything Venti says, things will go okay, right?
Xiao's hands curl into fists as he watches Chongyun jog over to his own station. Everyone feels ready for the races, everyone. There's a reason it's so empty despite the races being so close.
But, hey, there's a 50% chance that he won't get selected for tomorrow's race, right? Hopefully, he'll get to watch from the sidelines and take some more time to prepare, some more time to master the art of racing on these karts.
Hopefully.
Aether and Lumine watch the broadcast with bated breath. This was supposed to be a viewing party, but their friends—Itto, Xiangling, Jean, and Bennett—were all too busy. Fine, fine, they’d texted on the group chat. We’re still watching the actual race together, right?
Four texts confirmed yes, they were still down to host a longer viewing party the next day, but the twins refused to catch any second of the Celestial Races on a recording.
No, they wanted to see it all live.
“I still think it’s so stupid that they’re not letting anyone watch in-person,” Lumine mutters, shoveling popcorn in her mouth like the starved dog Aether thinks she is. “I would’ve paid, like, three hundred whole mora for it.”
“It would have cost three thousand mora at least,” Aether says, “And we still would have been dumb enough to pay, so we should be glad we’re not going broke again.”
Though, he muses, this year might have been worth seeing in person. Four years of watching Morax take a crushing victory was less exhilarating than it sounds; this year, though, Ningguang has sworn that the races were restructured to give everyone a fair chance. The fact that her primary sponsor is the controversial Dr. Mario only added weight to her words, and both Aether and Lumine are convinced (despite their friends’ disagreement) that this year’s races will be truly epic.
“I wish one of us had won the lottery,” Lumine whines. “Or the two of us! One boy, one girl—it would have been perfect.”
“Yeah, but then we'd have to compete against each other, which would kind of suck."
"So what? We could make a pact to work together! And, y'know, even if you beat me in a competition, I wouldn't be upset."
"Maybe, but you'd be petty. You'd bring it up for months. Years. Decades, probably."
"I am not that petty!"
"Don't even try to—shit, Lumi, it’s starting!”
Whatever idle chitchat they’d been entertaining to pass the time is forgotten as Ningguang’s unmistakable face comes on the screen.
“Hello world,” she says in her signature greeting, “From the Celestial Tower.”
She moves into a quick recap of the events—information about the races that a casual wouldn’t know, but information that Aether and Lumine have long committed to heart since they first fell in love with racing seven years ago.
“And despite having sixteen contestants, we’ve determined that, for the safety of our racers, only eight will be allowed to compete tomorrow. These eight racers will be selected by eight of our sponsors, all of which have been generous enough to supply Celestia with the technology we need to make these races possible. A round of applause for them...and now, we will have the esteemed Sir Wario from Wario Industries make the first selection!”
Aether and Lumine hold hands as the first name is drawn, both of them crushing each other’s palms because they have no other outlet for their excitement.
“I bet it’s gonna be Morax,” Aether says. “Morax or Alberich.”
“No way,” Lumine says. “It’ll be Tartaglia. He’s everyone’s favorite.”
Aether opens his mouth to retort, but Wario on the screen says the correct name before he can:
“Kaeya Alberich, racename Alberich!”
The twins don’t have any time to relax, then, because the rest of the lots are drawn even faster.
All the sponsors go up, one after another. Luigi from Luigi & Co. Peach from Princess Peach Inc. Waluigi from Waluigi Group. Rosalina from Rosalina & Tech. Yoshi from Yoshi's. Donkey Kong from DK. Bowser from King Bowser Company.
Lumine is typing them all on her phone so she can send the list out on their group chat as soon as possible:
Kaeya Alberich, racename Alberich
Kujou Sara, racename Tengu
Xiao, racename Alatus
Childe, racename Tartaglia
Rosaria, racename Sister
Thoma, racename Thoma
Venti, racename Barbatos
Chongyun, racename Chongyun
Aether and Lumine then take a moment to breathe, thinking that the excitement is over, but on the broadcast, Ningguang is still talking.
“And now, we have two more sponsors who will be randomly selecting which circuit our racers will race on and which challenge they will face!”
Aether and Lumine look at each other. This wasn’t on the official Celestial Races Rules website.
“They have multiple circuits?” Aether whispers, eyes lighting up.
“And multiple challenges? What do you think those will be like?”
Neither of them can quite answer those questions, so they remain silent as Toad from Toad & Toadette and Dry Bones from Dry Bones Teyvat come onto the platform and draw lots as well.
“We have over thirty-two circuits to select from, and thus far, our racers have seen eleven. Each of our sponsors worked together to design these tracks, and the circuit on which tomorrow’s races will occur is…”
“Wario Stadium!” Toad announces with pride in his iconically squeaky voice, and Aether and Lumine scramble to text that as well to their group chat.
“Celestia has also prepared a series of challenges to make these races more intense,” Ningguang says. “These challenges range from changes to the environment to changes to the karts themselves, and even handicaps that the racers will need to manage inside their vehicles. Now, which will it be?”
Dry Bones shuts his eyes as he selects a wooden slate from inside a box, and he lifts it out with a smirk that’s only slightly menacing.
“No shock absorbers!” he declares, and even Ningguang seems surprised—though in a good way, based on the sudden glow in her eye.
Then, all ten sponsors line up behind her, and she continues to talk about the race, but it’s information that Aether and Lumine already know.
“What do you think it means?”
“Does this mean that their karts come with built-in shock absorbers?”
“Won’t it be dangerous to remove them?”
“I’ve never heard about that circuit before, either—”
“There are already articles on the net about it, but none from any reputable sources—”
They’re not listening to each other, too excited about what’s going to come tomorrow. On a 65-inch flatscreen TV, they’re going to see something the world is actually excited about: Ningguang’s final chance to make these races something to remember: Morax's opportunity to defend his championship title on a racing circuit designed to challenge him: sixteen of the world’s best racers competing in a tower that’s was hand-crafted by the world's technology leaders of tomorrow.
It’s going to be epic, Aether thinks.
It’s going to change racing history, Lumine knows.
Less than one day remains, and the whole world, them included, is now waiting with bated breath.
Notes: happy holidays everyone :) my new year's goal is to write 334,962 words over the next ten months which is not as impossible as it sounds because that is almost the exact average of how much i wrote in 2020 and 2021
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Next Update: itLL cOmE oUt aFTeR a yEaR (rt, happy early new year!!)
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The walker's two gatling weapons whirred in a devilish frenzy before belching out a massive amount of bullets towards him. He threw up a magical shell as the onslaught pelted him, but not before getting riddled by a few of the bullets. He responded by firing out a few bolts of energy in return, making one of the guns explode in a shower of metal and sparks.
Rounding the ruined corner, Kihta gasped at the sight of the enormous walker straight ahead. With a frown, she sighed and doubled back around the corner - taking an alternate route around the construct, the Miqo'te aimed to sneak around it to where she wouldn't risk being hit by the shots it continued to fire off. Surprised by the lack of any surprises waiting for her in the direction she ran off into, she rounded another corner and found herself some several feet away from the unsuspecting walker. As quickly as she could, she fired off a couple of arrows - aiming for the weaker areas of the walker; its corded joints where she successfully severed the other weapon.
The machine turned to face Kihta in response to the new attacker. Mitsune took this opportunity to charge at the machine, powering his weapon with dark energy. The violet lightning crackled along the edge of the blade as he swung it into one of the legs, which tore a massive hole through it and sundering the joints that made that leg function properly. The machine responded by throwing a massive kick at the Xaela, knocking him back quite a distance. He smashed into a piece of debris, smashing the wind out of him. The machine then turned its attention to Kihta and powered up its main cannon for a powerful blast.
"Mits!" Kihta cried out watching the Xaela being flung back in the violent manner he had been. As the machine turned upon her, the Miqo'te's eyes widened in panic, running back down the way she had come from, trying to dodge the blast. If she could make it chase her, she might have time to think.
Mitsune trembled as he propped his arm up on the debris behind him, gripping it tightly with his other hand. He pulled himself up, trembling from the loss of blood from the bullets and the impact from the mechanical beast's leg. He coughed up blood underneath his helm as he weakly held up his sword. He watched the monstrosity power it's cannon and aim it right for Kihta. It fired on her and it missed. But only barely. The blast annihilated a piece of a nearby metal wall sending fragmentations at her. A few sliced into Kihta's leg as the monster opened up it's back, revealing a rack of missiles.
Kihta winced in pain, biting back crying out as she continued to race around another corner - and then another, putting as much distance between herself and that monstrosity as she could. She wasn't naive enough to think that her arrows stood a chance against that thing, so the only thing she could think to do was to keep running - maybe she might confuse its operator and give Mitsune time to recuperate enough to put a stop to it. Her eyes welled up with tears in worry for him - what if he still lie in that pile of rubble?
Mitsune's wounds were heavy, and he realized he was going to go unconscious before he bled out. He winced as the machine readied it's missiles. The dark knight knew he had to do something that was abhorrent in the eyes of many. He closed his eyes, feeling a dark power surge up from within him. He felt the world surrounding him shudder, and hallowed roars of some unholy power came flowing forth. Those who were alive but wounded had their lives instantly snuffed out as their life force drained into Mitsune. The surrounding wild life and vegetation died, the wind screamed in agony. Anyone still alive could feel some uneasiness or even sickness wash over them. He was channeling black magic.
"Dammit," Kihta huffed, wincing again in pain as she continued to run - she could still feel the tremble of the earth beneath her feet, alerting her that the walker was still hot on her trail. Another blast shook the perimeter as it missed her and hit the building she had just ran around, sending bits of debris flinging this way and that. Something didn't feel right suddenly, her stomach churned noting the sensation had come from the area she had last seen Mitsune. Taking in a deep breath, Kihta turned once and fired a round of arrows at the walker - hoping there might be a weak point she might hit as she started for Mitsune. "This wasn't such a great idea! We need to go, Mits! Something isn't...." Her voice trailed off seeing the blackened area she happened upon - her fur rising on its ends.
The Dark Knight opened his eyes which were now blood red and violet. Power resonated around him with crimson and violet trails of magic swirling. Reddened lightning crackled along his body, pulsing with raw, untapped power. The machine turned around, detecting a new threat as Kihta ran out of its sight. Mitsune slowly held up his hand before a blast of dark sprang from his hand, smashing into the head of the combat walker. It's joint pulsed with black magic, seemingly paralyzed. Mitsune grabbed the sword with both hands and charged with inhuman speed and went underneath of the machine. He swung upwards as he went through, slicing through its underside like butter as he ended up behind it. The machine buckled and made a whining metallic noise as oil and sparks sprayed out from underneath it. A few seconds later it ignited in a massive explosion that ripped through the surrounding area. As the smoke cleared, Mitsune still stood, unharmed by the massive blast.
Running to Mitsune, Kihta looked him over intently - carefully examining his form for injuries. "Mits, are you alright?" She breathed, hoping nothing larger and more complicated to deal with would rear its ugly head in the brief reprieve. "Wh...what now?"
Mitsune looked at the wreckage. Before turning to look at Kihta in some kind of mental haze. He only looked up to where Aelfgar ran off to. He trembled with the new dark power he wielded as his own blood and the blood of others covered him, "I'm finishing this. Now...." He hustled after placing his sword upon his back. His speed picked up as he bolted up the nearby flight of stairs leading to the last intact area.
Kihta blinked as she looked after him, somewhat in disbelief as he carried on through the thick of it all. She saw that haze once before, and she didn't quite feel comfortable seeing it again - and sure enough, she took off after him. "No way am I letting you do this alone," she huffed to herself in pursuit of Mitsune.
Bleeding, full of rage, and pulsing with his newfound energy, Mitsune stormed up the ramp to meet his enemy head on. Awaiting him were almost a dozen heavily armed soldiers. They were clad in heavy armor, wielding gunblades, and pointed all of their weapons at him. Behind them was their fearless leader Aelfgar, running as fast as he could for an airship that was getting ready for lift off. He walked towards them, pointing his weapon at the nearest one. He grinned evilly as the black magic cackled around him like some mad demon, "Time to die."
Not far behind, Kihta arrived on the platform though she stayed a few steps behind on the ramp so that she could give herself some cover should she need it. Immediately, she fired an arrow at one of the guards and was already in the process of nocking another one as the first arrow went sailing for her target. "He's getting away!"
The guard was shot right in the abdomen as the arrow pierced his armor. He fell back in pain, clutching the wound as he yelled out. The others opened fire on Mitsune and Kihta. The hail of bullets came at them like a furious rain. Mitsune charged through the hail, his black magic shielding him from the assault. The bullets deflected, whizzing off into the distance like an angry nest of hornets. He launched his attack soon after and his blade sang a dark song as it bit into his foes, slicing through their armor like it did not exist. The four he attacked first fell into multiple pieces, blood and gore sloshing on the ground as the blade tore into them like some unholy creature, ravenous for their flesh.
Kihta ducked back down under the landing where she was taking cover, waiting for the onslaught of bullets to end. When she was sure she had timed enough quiet moments in passing between each firing round, she poked her head back up and began firing another round of arrows for any of the guards Mitsune had not yet taken out. Kihta's arrows sliced into the armor of the soldiers. One arrow went through the helmet of one of them, ensuring a quick death. The other slammed into the chest of another, felling him. Bullets punched into the area around her, some of them actually breaking through parts of the cover she was behind.
As the enemy ran low on ammunition, they charged at the dark knight. Mitsune responded in kind by unleashing a torrent of powerful swings, slicing through their armor, hacking apart their weapons, and breaking their bodies. He easily deflected their blows when they were able to get a swing in before being torn apart. Mitsune, tiring of the fight and not wanting his prey to get away started to channel even more black magic. The energy howled through his weapon as black and crimson lightning arcs jumped along the blade of his weapon. He swung the blade, tearing a hole in the reality around him. The abyss seemed to open up momentarily upon the enemies before it suddenly collapsed in a violent explosion that turned the rest of them into bloody ribbons as body parts and gore showered him and the surrounding platform.
Kihta gasped as one of the bullets nearly missed her head. Running up onto the platform, she saw that the rest of the guards were already taken care of - deeming it safer to venture out alongside Mitsune. She watched him with large eyes, seeing the way he moved and channeled darker magics like she had never seen before. "When did you learn to do all of that?" She asked herself. "And where?" Knowing she likely wouldn't get much of a solid answer right yet, she readied herself with another arrow
The engines of a nearby airship begin to churn. He snarled as he held forth his hand. Dark magic funneled through his body from the surrounding area, fueling his power. The magic coalesced into an orb of crimson and black swirling magic which hovered over his outstretched hand. He gripped it within his hand before smashing the orb into his body. It was absorbed into him as it jumped along his body like red circuitry. He glared as the ship began to take off, his engines whining as it struggled to make it's get away, "No." He clenched his hand into a dragon's claw as a horrendously loud bolt of black and crimson lightning shot from his hand like a cannon. It hit the ship it one of its engines which exploded a few seconds later. The ship made a screeching metallic noise before plummeting back to the landing pad they stood on. A portion of it exploded as the machine toppled over. A moment passed as Mitsune stared blankly at the wreckage before Aelfgar came crawling out of it, his leg battered and bloody and his head looking much the same.
Kihta fell back onto her bottom as the ship collided back with the platform, some of her arrows scattering around her from her quiver. When she saw Aelfgar emerge, she shouted to Mitsune, "Now's your chance!"
Aelfgar looked to the two of them as he stopped crawling momentarily. He reached to his side, drawing a pistol out as he pointed it towards Mitsune. The dark knight stomped forward as Aelfgar fired shot after shot into the murderous warrior. None of the shots connected as aura shattered the bullets on impact. Aelgar pulled the trigger once more but only clicks answered him and his face went pale. Mitsune ended it by bringing the blade through the weapon and into Aelfgar's arm. He shrieked in pain as his arm was sliced in half vertically to his elbow, leaving half of his hand and arm connected as the other fell to the ground. Mitsune placed his sword back on his back as he saw his enemy bleed on the ground in pain. He enjoyed watching it.
Kihta moved to her feet quickly as she gathered her arrows up and her bow, turning around once to make sure no one else followed them. When she was certain it was just them, she turned back around and made her way towards Mitsune and Aelfgar. She nodded to Mitsune.
Mitsune smiled under his helmet and snatched the weakened Aelfgar by his throat, digging his spiked claws into Aelfgar's neck, choking him. He grinned evilly, pleased to see the pain his prey was in as his voice became dark, hollow, and unnerving. Aelgar's expression turned into fear as the blood leaked from his wounds and heard Mitsune's voice. "That terror on your face. It is invigorating."
Mitsune chuckled as he gripped tighter around his neck, "There is no escape this time, Aelfgar." He didn't have the strength to fight against the Xaela in his current state nor could he in his prime, "You had best pray to any misbegotten gods you worship. Because you're are about to meet them."
As he finished, Mitsune's claws sliced into Aelfgar's neck, burrowing deeply into his throat. He slowly and painfully pulled back, ripping out tendons and muscles as a massive gout of gore poured forth onto both Aelfgar and Mitsune. The dark knight yanked backwards, tearing out the entirety of the area, leaving a visceral amount of bloodshed. Aelfgar tried to catch his breath but only the gurgling warmth of blood greeted him. He fell to the ground, his body convulsing and twitching as the last of his life seeped onto the cold, unforgiving metal platform.
Kihta gasped, unable to look. Turning her head, she cringed as she could hear the sounds made by the gruesome death the man received. She shook a little, quivering a bit as she took a step away from the area and neared the edge of the platform looking out for any new enemies. As she did this, rain started to fall once more.
Mitsune looked down at the corpse of the man that led him to the life he had now. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it beside him as the rain washed off the gore he was drenched in. He breathed in deeply, tasting and smelling the death and fire around him. He closed his eyes and his body trembled from the realization that revenge was finally his.
