[Zhongli knows who it is before the door finishes screaming open. He senses him, like the tang of ozone in the air during a thunderstorm. Something innate and familiar. Still, there's relief when he recognizes the figure inside with his amber eyes—followed by a cold wash of anger and something a little more ruthless than fear.
Zhongli crosses the length of the shipping container with slow measured steps accented by his boots. It's hot in here. Far too hot to be comfortable. Stars and heavens, this man ought to be dead. But he isn't, and for that, Zhongli is grateful, though his expression is difficult to read.
Just as Vergil seems unrecognizable, Zhongli has also been changed. His amber eyes glow like the reflection of pure gold off polished stone. Copper-to-gold horns branch out from his hair, matching the ombre he's had since his powers awoke, though Vittore didn't notice it for ten damn years. One could probably chalk it up to hallucination but there's a long bronze-scaled tail that follows behind Zhongli too. He's more monster than man, a vision covered in bystander blood splatter like the rest. One look at the shiny stone spear in his hands and it's obvious that he's given more pain than received it.
The time for subtlety has long passed. He sets his spear down. Though he was once a god, Zhongli now kneels before Vittore with the air of a penitent believer. The brunet's touch is unbelievably gentle as he lays a single claw on the chains binding Vergil. The gold leylines on the back of his palms pulse with mana. Then the shackles pop open and fall from Vergil's limbs with hardly a whisper of protest. Metalbending.]
Would that you had not suffered at the hands of those monsters.
[He's so thin. He's so thin. For a moment, Zhongli doesn't see Vergil there, but the shriveled figure of a young man forced to devour dreams and torment the living. Sorrow tempers the glow in his eyes.]
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Zhongli crosses the length of the shipping container with slow measured steps accented by his boots. It's hot in here. Far too hot to be comfortable. Stars and heavens, this man ought to be dead. But he isn't, and for that, Zhongli is grateful, though his expression is difficult to read.
Just as Vergil seems unrecognizable, Zhongli has also been changed. His amber eyes glow like the reflection of pure gold off polished stone. Copper-to-gold horns branch out from his hair, matching the ombre he's had since his powers awoke, though Vittore didn't notice it for ten damn years. One could probably chalk it up to hallucination but there's a long bronze-scaled tail that follows behind Zhongli too. He's more monster than man, a vision covered in bystander blood splatter like the rest. One look at the shiny stone spear in his hands and it's obvious that he's given more pain than received it.
The time for subtlety has long passed. He sets his spear down. Though he was once a god, Zhongli now kneels before Vittore with the air of a penitent believer. The brunet's touch is unbelievably gentle as he lays a single claw on the chains binding Vergil. The gold leylines on the back of his palms pulse with mana. Then the shackles pop open and fall from Vergil's limbs with hardly a whisper of protest. Metalbending.]
Would that you had not suffered at the hands of those monsters.
[He's so thin. He's so thin. For a moment, Zhongli doesn't see Vergil there, but the shriveled figure of a young man forced to devour dreams and torment the living. Sorrow tempers the glow in his eyes.]
It's time to go home, Vittore.