For some reason,
Seino Yaku found that man's back strangely familiar.
Head always bowed, thin coat rustling in the bleak wind; blade scraping stone, showering sparks, he kept moving forward without once looking back. Dark blood dripped, drop after drop, from his fingertips.
—Seino Yaku felt an odd illusion: the man was like an old cat slowly dying.
Instinctively he glanced at Xiao—only to see, with surprise, the usually stone-faced Yaksha wearing a complicated expression.
Golden pupils fixed on that figure, Xiao murmured almost inaudibly:
"…Bosacius?"
Across two millennia Xiao and Bosacius met again.
Bosacius… so that is Bosacius?
Seino Yaku gazed at the old cat… That was once me?
The Fantastic Compass was a bizarre adeptal device; besides twisting space it could project the past into the present. Whatever Bosacius had done in the Chasm was being faithfully replayed.
What had that "sin-adeptus" really done here?
According to later accounts Bosacius killed every guarding Millelith, polluted the ley lines beneath the Chasm, drove Azhdaha mad—that was the "truth" Rex Lapis gave them.
Truth—so it was said.
Yet… was it truly?
Instantly Xiao dared not think further; he even felt an urge to stop watching. If the Archon's words were untrue—could he bear the real truth?
He did not know.
Bosacius had been killed by them; though Ganyu delivered the final blow, the Yaksha aided…
They had indirectly killed him.
If Bosacius was not a sinner, then the one who broke vows and slew kin was Xiao himself.
Could he endure that?
Xiao shook his head. Whatever the truth, he must face it—coming here meant he had steeled himself.
Suddenly Xiao's eyes widened.
The man ahead had halted; in the next instant a colossal abyssal maw crashed from above. A miasma of stench and blood thick enough to clot the air poured forth, twisted murmurs flooding Xiao's ears!
So vivid, so near—as if they were back on that ancient battlefield: smoke, cries, monsters' roars… all before their eyes. Xiao could see the man's slash, the drifting strands of hair, the heaving chest, each bead of sweat.
At arm's length.
The dragging blade swept upward, cleaving the beast's cheek, slicing from upper jaw to lower. A flash of gore—the head bisected; brain and bone sprayed skyward, blood geysered—
Bosacius lowered his head, letting filthy blood splatter his robe. He exhaled slowly and walked on.
Huff… huff…
The cleft monstrosity thudded in two behind him.
He felt exhaustion—but could not yet yield.
From a pocket he drew his last roll of tobacco, hand-rolled it, lit it. Warm smoke flowed down his throat into his lungs; he breathed a thin plume.
He lifted his eyes. Before him—an ocean of fire.
Flames licked the leaden sky; every tier of the abyss burned. Rolling smoke shrouded heaven. Miners not yet evacuated were devoured by karma; their screams filled the air. The Millelith still fought, dying one after another on the charge.
At the Chasm's heart yawned a pit miles across—the "Maw of the Abyss," bottomless, molten crimson churning. Now uncountable karma geysered from the maw, coalescing into demons, shrieking, smashing all. They clambered up the walls; in moments they would burst forth.
No one could stop them. Even the bravest soldiers showed terror and despair: if the karma reached the surface, who knew what would follow.
Huff… huff…
A rock-steady breath, heavy and calm; each inhalation made the surrounding stone resonate.
Before any soldier grasped what happened, a man strode toward the abyssal maw—long blade scraping the rock with a metallic ring.
He looked weary, a cigarette dangling like any old man's; in hand the standard Millelith longsword, edge chipped and curled—such a weapon could hardly slay foes.
Yet seasoned veterans gasped: the man bore four arms!
Huff—
Bosacius hefted the battered blade, blood-wet fingers and middle finger joined in a sword-seal. Deep-violet eyes flashed terrifying light; thin lips parted, and all rocks trembled, resonating with his breath—
"Suppress."
The first karma-beast lunged; Bosacius' blade thrust down through its chest. The Chasm's wall cracked in rings.
The vault collapsed; billions of tons of rock thundered into the maw. Earth shuddered with a lament.
Suppress… SUPPRESS!
Monsters smashed by falling stone were driven back; quake after quake shook the ground, flames howled. Dust billowed, smoke rolled, lingering long.
In the thick dust only that back stood unmoving.
Huff. Bosacius leaned on the blade to stay upright. He sensed: if he fell now, the next to rise would no longer be him.
Biting his tongue till it bled kept him lucid; close up his face looked warped, half-mad.
"Is… is that the Marshal?"
A voice, hushed yet trembling with excitement—an old soldier who'd served forty years, once glimpsed Marshal Bosacius.
"Marshal!"
"Is it truly the Marshal?!"
More soldiers cried out—they'd grown on Marshal Vritras' stories; seeing him alive, how not to cheer?
Bosacius paused, bowed his head, bit harder for clarity—then
—lifted his eyes, turned, and flashed that reassuring hearty smile, the one that told all foes were nothing if he had arrived.
"You've done well."
His voice was deep; he swept his gaze over the Millelith. Once three thousand guarded here; now most had fallen, the survivors ragged and bleeding.
"You truly… have done well."
The cigarette was a dying ember. Below, the maw roared anew. Pale moonlight seeped through fissures, slanting across his back.
"Leave now," he ordered.
"And you, Marshal?" the old soldier asked.
"I go down." Bosacius flicked the butt into the maw, wiped the blade.
The soldiers exchanged looks—but none moved, only stood silent. Their silence itself was their answer.
"What?" Bosacius sounded displeased. "Though I left the corps, my rank stands. Will you disobey an order?"
"We fear not death," a young soldier said stiffly. "We cannot flee."
They sensed the disaster eclipsed any before; they'd seen the abyssal horrors—must not let them loose. Scholar-soldiers felt its terror: terror beyond even archons.
"Not afraid of death, yet you fear life?"
Bosacius spoke gently:
"Death is the worst; therefore live—not for yourselves, but for those who need you, for kin and friends you love. Your deaths would be their worst horror. I… am different."
I am different.
No one loves me now.
No one needs me alive.
I am calamity.
To me, living is worse than dying.
Yet aloud he laughed, carefree, bright, earnestly:
"I differ: I am Marshal Vritras, I am strong—down there I won't die; I can live centuries yet. Do you mistrust me?"
—No one would doubt Marshal Vritras; he always inspired assurance.
"Go," he said. "Cover the civilians' retreat. You have your duty; I have my vow."
"Yaksha," he declared, "shall make of their bodies arrays to seal filth. Though I'm no true Yaksha, I will not break my word."
Civilians still remained. At last the Millelith moved, heads bowed.
"That's right."
Bosacius smiled softly, sheathed the sword, stepped onto the abyss rim. Smoke and heat whipped his tattered coat.
"Hey, karma," he whispered no one else could hear, "don't you love to feed? The more you eat the stronger you grow. Plenty down there—let's feast together!"
Karma devours karma; feeding makes it stronger. While exorcising for Liyue, Bosacius' inner karma would also devour. A banquet: it would not refuse.
Bosacius had a plan—his prepared fallback.
This time he must succeed.
He tore off his coat; blood-red flooded his eyes, aura turning grim, grin feral. One step—he plunged into the abyss.
Below, endless filth opened countless arms; Bosacius descended from heaven to embrace them.
Above, the Millelith voices like stone rang together through the cavern:
"Three thousand Millelith salute the Marshal entering the array.
"Three thousand Millelith salute the Marshal entering the array!"
The man fell into the mile-deep abyss.
Two thousand four hundred years later, at the now-dry maw's edge, three people stood silent.
Silence—deathly silence.
Xiao stared blankly into the still maw—no filth, no smoke, no monsters, quiet as a grave.
What…
what?
His lips parted. Xiao could not comprehend—only confusion.
The Compass had faithfully replayed everything, including Bosacius' final whisper:
"Hey, karma … you love to eat … plenty of food below … feast together."
Karma… So that thing in his soul, that seized Bosacius' body, was karma.
But "eat"—eat what?
He had thought Bosacius lost reason to karma and betrayed. Now truth appeared utterly different!
What truly occurred?
Records said Bosacius slaughtered the Chasm's Millelith, polluted the ley lines—yet the vision showed ground already tainted, Bosacius telling survivors to leave, himself leaping in.
Xiao puzzled—so many contradictions. If Millelith escorted civilians out, why, when Yaksha arrived later, were all soldiers dead? Only one possibility.
He realized he was shaking.
The Millelith, after escorting civilians, did not withdraw—they waited for their Marshal's return, then re-entered, fought, and "fell entirely in the abyss."
That perhaps was history's truth.
Not slaughter, not betrayal—but foolish Marshal and foolish Millelith dying together at Liyue's very heart, hearing the nation's heartbeat as they died.
Xiao swayed; his heart pounded. Much remained unclear—many questions.
What happened in the deep ley lines?
He stared into the maw—he had to descend and witness.
Seino Yaku watched Xiao, unsure what to say; he had never seen Xiao like this—silent.
After a while Xiao spoke—not to Seino Yaku:
"You saw that scene as well?"
Seino Yaku turned sharply, pupils narrowing.
When had she appeared? He'd noticed nothing.
She was…
The very one Havria had warned him to avoid: half-adeptus, half-human—Ganyu.
Golden eyes, blue hair to the waist, pure white robe trimmed gold. Her cool, exquisite profile showed no excess emotion. Broken sunlight slanted through rock fissures, casting pallid beams into her eyes.
She stepped back, again, half her face in shadow; Seino Yaku could not read her expression. After a pause she said:
"It is only a void illusion."
Ganyu gazed at Xiao; golden eyes deep as a pool. Biting her lip, she repeated, as if hammering a stake:
" …Only an illusion."
"The Fantastic Compass was forged by Master; of course he knows how to employ it."
Her tone almost obstinate.
"Why trust a traitor's illusion?"
A heavy overcast lay in her eyes.
"All of this is fake."