Look Me in the Eyes (and tell me that it's me) [Zhongchili]

Chapter 37 - The Power Within

"Capitano." Tartaglia gazes deep into the void where Capitano's face should be. A lesser man would tremble at the sight of such endless non-existence, but only one emotion courses through Tartaglia's veins: excitement. "You could've gotten the jump on me there. Thought you were outside with the others."

"That would not be a fair duel," Capitano rumbles from within his helm.

"A duel? Then you're here to fight."

"Such is my duty as the guard of Her Majesty." He points the tip of his sword towards Tartaglia. "Anyone attempting to trespass into Her domain must first pass through mine."

The phantom crowd cheers, and Tartaglia summons his own blades to match. A fight against Capitano and a crowd to witness his victory—there's no better way to finish off his time at the Fatui.

Tartaglia steps forward. "If I win, I'll be able to talk to her?"

"That is correct."

"Alright. To first blood?"

"I cannot bleed," Capitano replies, "and so such terms would be unequal. To first cut, whether clothing or skin."

"Agreed."

A second spotlight appears on Tartaglia's side of the arena, and he steps forwards into its beckoning gleam. It's time for him to shine. It's time for every soul in this room to bear witness to his victory, and he shall defeat Capitano. His heart pulses behind his breastbone, and his breath quickens, every muscle in his body strung taut in anticipation.

"Then shall we start this thing, or?"

"Wait." Capitano holds up a hand. "A bout shall be announced by the ceremonial gun. Should you wish to withdraw, simply step outside the arena's bounds, and the match shall be forfeit."

"I won't give up. You won't beat me."

"That remains to be seen."

There's a moment of stillness, of silence as they stare each other down. This is it. His final barrier to freedom. For five hundred years, the Fatui have waited to reclaim him, but for five hundred years, Zhongli has also waited, and today he shall wait no more.

Then, the crack of a pistol sounds, echoing across the arena, and the duel commences.

Capitano sets immediately on the offensive. He launches a spray of icicles towards Tartaglia, a hundred hungry daggers locked onto their target. Tartaglia leaps, arcing towards Capitano. The angle is enough to throw off the pathing of the majority of the ice, and the tiny spears launch upwards, embedding themselves in the ceiling. A web of fractures splinters out from where they impact, and the crowd gasps.

Yes, let them gasp. Let them be in awe of the might of a Harbinger's power.

Landing behind Capitano, Tartaglia spins, directing a blow towards his opponent's thigh.

Too slow.

Capitano's blade meets his, and their weapons lock, Capitano's weight bearing down upon him.

This guy is strong. But not strong enough.

Pivoting at an angle that Capitano can't follow, Tartaglia frees his blades and comes in for a second attempt. However, before he can place his strike, Capitano blocks him once more, and Tartaglia's blow glances off of Capitano's parry.

They engage in a series of back and forth blows, the crashing of blade against blade accompanying the ever crescendoing cheers from the crowd. It fills Tartaglia's chest, his head, his soul, his blood pumping with the unending beat of battle.

This is it. This is what he trains for.

This is what he loves.

Not stalking petty thieves through the streets, not butchering petty smugglers, not slaughtering citizens in their homes.