He struggles against the restraints. To no avail, as the metal cuffs hold firm despite his desperate efforts. Still he fights with all his might - there's nothing else he can do. He sees only darkness, the blindfold's softness a mockery of his position. His nostrils are filled with the choking, stinging smell of antiseptic. The lab's cool air makes his naked body shiver.
A hand, covered by a rubber glove, is placed over his mouth. Something cold and wet is rubbed across a part of his neck before he feels a sharp sting. He jerks, but the substance quickly spreads through his veins. Waves of spasms shake his body, making his limbs tremble and quiver. They feel fuzzy, then numb. Heavy, clumsy, like timber.
His mind clouds quickly and he starts choking back coppery foam. His body bends upwards in desperate search for relief.
Heavy limbs. Cut them off. He wants to cut them off. He would rather not feel anything in them for his entire life than endure this.
He hates this feeling.
His chest suddenly feels heavy, as if being crushed in a Lawachurl's hand. He coughs out more red foam.
It's bad. Maybe they messed up, and he will get to actually die this time.
He hopes so.
A pair of arms grab his left thigh and stab a short, fat needle through the muscle. The warmth of feeling spreads through his paralyzed limbs, the numbness replaced with a searing pain in the relaxing muscles. It burns as if he was on fire, but from the inside.
He labels it closer to frostbite than to real fire. He wonders if there will be burns or if it will just be black and blue.
A mask is forced on his face. He doesn't protest. There's no energy left in him to do so.
He can feel his lungs decompressing, and the crushing feeling fades. Slightly.
He isn't grateful for this relief. There's no point.
"One fifth of a syringe of solution C16 seems to work, although only partially. Taking into account the exceptional resistance to toxic substances of the test subject, I conclude that this portion wouldn't be able to function as intended. Give him a few hours and we will go again, this time with three of ten. Noted? "
"Noted."
The voices fade out into darkness, but the remnants of pain remain. The once stabbing pain turns to a scraping one, and grows in intensity. It's like sandpaper being dragged over exposed muscle tissue.
He knows that feeling well.
Denki awakes with a gasp to the sight of the Watcher sitting casually on the edge of the bed, a leather-clad book in his hand. Upon hearing the human groan, he stands up at once. After grabbing a metallic cylinder and removing the cap, revealing a long needle, he stabs it right below Denki's left breast.
Denki fights back, pushing through the fiery pain. He grabs Watcher's arm at the elbow and tries to force it away. His heart is pounding as he struggles with the undead's grip. His mind is buzzing with desperate call outs towards his whole being. He needs to resist, to push him away, to escape. His ferocity grows as more and more of the ampule's contents are pumped into his system. In a last ditch effort, just as barely any fluid remains, he punches Watcher's hand with his own, breaking the needle.
Before he can turn and attempt to raise up, something pins his body to the bed. His eyes dart between his arms, but the force remains unseen. Blood is now seeping from his small wound.
"Calm down, fool." Watcher pays no mind to Denki's state, retrieving the broken needle tip from his body. He promptly swabs the wound with a piece of gauze. "This is a sedative. It will help the pain. Deep breaths, human."
Upon hearing his voice, his heart slows slightly. He does as instructed while Watcher observes him carefully. The adrenaline fades out, and panic is replaced by a feeling of shame.
Shame. He was treated so well, and yet he did something so unthankful.
"I'm sorry sir." He says weakly, looking down at the slightly bloody gauze.
Watcher scoffs. "Sir? Do not call me that. My title is enough." He offers Denki his hand. "Try to sit up now."
Stinging pain resonates through his spine as he pushes himself upwards. Watcher's cold fingerbones guide him to rest his back against the wall. He shivers at how cold the stone is, as his loose shirt does nothing to insulate him.
"How are you feeling now? Any pain, any uncomfortable sensations?"
"I'm nauseous. My stomach hurts…" In that awful, familiar way. "... but it's just that I'm hungry. The pain is better now. Thank you for the medicine."
The Watcher nods his head. "Wonderful. Let's get this body some nutrients. Come on now." He raises up.
Denki sighs and slowly moves his legs to the side. He looks down at his legs. They are completely hairless, and the skin is somewhat paler than before.
What he finds the most surprising is the complete lack of injuries, or even their leftovers. On the pristine skin there is not a single flaw. Not a single scar that he remembers. He takes a closer look, and still he discovers more. His worry grows into fear, and then into panic.
There isn't a single scar he had before. There isn't a single mole he remembers. His legs, his torso, his arms aren't skinny.
"This is n-not my body! W-what did you put me in?" He can't believe his eyes.
This feels like a dream. Or rather a painful, alien nightmare. This isn't him. This is something else.
He is somebody else.
"Of course it isn't, human. Your previous vessel would not sustain your soul for more than a few days, maybe weeks if we would be lucky. We transplanted your soul."
"Into w-what?"
"This vessel has been designed based on your body structure, but has been vastly improved to perform even in the harshest conditions. Your face is still as it used to be, do not be concerned with that." Watcher opens the heavy wooden door, revealing the room behind it. Denki spots a table and a few chairs. "Come on."
The skeleton leaves. With some effort, Denki is able to lift himself up. His head starts spinning, so he pushes himself up against the wall. He rubs his temple, and that's when he feels it.
There's a sense of heaviness in his arm, a slight delay between the intent and the movement. He moves his arm again, and feels just the same things, on top of a strange feeling of limpness within his muscles. It feels as if the limb was pulled not by itself, but by strings. It feels just like… a puppet.
He turns towards the door, and places a few careful steps forward. His legs are infested with the same sensation. Although with some difficulty, he manages to move towards the door, all the time paying great attention to each slow step.
One leg after the other. This time, nothing hurts, more importantly - nothing is broken. He remembers walking with a broken leg. The current sensation is much alike, yet it doesn't feel as agonizingly painful. Just… strange.
He passes through the doorway and enters what looks to be a dining room. It is nothing like what he remembers from home - the table and chairs suggest a mainland-style interior. The first thing that catches his attention is the exquisite artistry of the design. Although barely visible from afar, the sides of the black furniture piece are riddled with small silver runes. Despite the overbearing simplicity of their design, he can clearly make out what they represent. A fly. A spider. A scorpion. A moth. A wasp. A hornet. A locust. There is a break and, painted in a golden color, is the same eye symbol as on Watcher's stole. He approaches the table and touches the decoration softly. The material is hard and cold, like stone.
"Black marble to be exact."
Denki snaps towards the undead, who is now sitting in one of the two exquisitely decorated chairs.
"E-excuse me?" He hopes he just misheard something. If not, that would mean…
"Yes, I can read your mind. How do you suppose I came to know everything about you, Sakurai Denki?" The skeleton laughs, the voice echoing through his empty ribcage. "I asked you about the name out of courtesy. To break the ice, you understand."
Denki doesn't know what to think anymore. He walks towards the chair, and glances at the seat. He probes the thin pillow with his hand, and, assured, he sits down slowly. His limbs simultaneously sigh in relief.
Another door, located behind Watcher's seat, opens, and a man holding a tray comes into the room. Denki traces his movements as a porcelain bowl is placed in front of him, filled to the brim with grayish rice. Next to the bowl is a simple, metal spoon.
In the meantime, Watcher takes a clay bowl from the hands of the newcomer. Denki spots white pockets inside it.
He turns towards the other human. He is wearing a white apron, two thin, drooping strands of gray mustache decorating his wrinkled and worn face. Despite his well-kept appearance, it was painfully obvious that time has not been kind on this man. Denki spots his slanted eyes and speaks out in Inazuman, shyly.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I think you've mistaken me with someone." He looks towards the Watcher, clueless. "Is this… really for me?"
"Is the meal not to your liking, Master Denki?" The chef replies in Inazuman, although his Liyue accent is clear to hear.
"Master"? Denki quickly shakes his head. "No, no, I just…" He can't find the right words.
"It has been long since you ate like this, hasn't it?" The Watcher asks, and reaches into his bowl. He retrieves one of the wrappings, and undoes it with his thin, skeletal fingers. Much to Denki's surprise, a round, slightly transparent object is hidden within. It's outside has an iridescent shine to it.
"I… yes. I am just…" He clears his throat, looking back to the bowl.
"Would you like some soy sauce on the side, Master Denki?" The old man smiles gently at him. "Our rice may not be Inazuman, but I prepared it to match seihakumai's taste as much as possible."
Denki takes the spoon in his hand, and slowly takes a small amount of grains off the top. He eats them, carefully tasting them. They are somewhat hard and a bit bitter, but fairly good overall.
"If that wouldn't be a problem t-then… Yes, please."
"I will be back shortly." The chef leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Denki takes another portion, this time larger in quantity, and inspects it. He finds nothing except the gray rice on the spoon. After another short moment of hesitation he eats it all in one bite. He takes another spoonful, now sparing just a quick glance. He speeds up, shoving portion after portion of the bare rice into his mouth, so fast that his throat barely has time to swallow before another dose enters his mouth.
Denki forgot how hungry he was. This rice, as bare and devoid of addons as it is, is the best he had tasted in his life. He doesn't care if there are pins, needles or razors inside the bowl. He wouldn't mind them anyway - just the chance to eat rice again is worth all the pain and blood.
He practically inhales the dish, but tastes not a single metallic drop of his own blood.
Perhaps he got lucky.
"T-thank you, I… Thank you!" He exclaimed, earning a nod from the Watcher. Even if he had no lips, Denki could sense he was smiling.
"That was chef Liao Wei. He has been working here for over fifty years. His cooking is impeccable, I must admit." Watcher lifts one of the gemstones up to his jaws, and crushes it. The remains drop down on the table, joining a small pile already there.
"What are those… " He stops. He steadies himself, and adds in an unsure, whispered tone: "... Watcher?"
"Ley Line Candy. You have heard of Ley Lines before, yes?"
"Yes, I did. They contain memories, right?"
"That is correct, human. Within this small piece of crystal a memory is contained." He lifts it up towards the lantern adorning the ceiling, and Denki can see a slight greenish tint on the inside of the candy. "The memory resonates with my Core, and I can experience it again. Those contain Sunsettia. Do you want to taste one?"
"A… Core? Do I have one in this body?"
"Yes, you do have one. It is necessary to keep your soul contained. It should work." Watcher passes Denki the treat. "Crack it with your teeth."
Denki does as instructed, and immediately a peachy sweetness hits his tongue, a sensation of soft pressure on his gums and teeth, just as if he was biting into the fruit itself. He can tell it is a ripe one, just from the taste. He removes the crystal pieces from his mouth, placing them into his empty bowl. The taste lingers for a good while before fading out.
"This is… fantastic. Truly incredible. How come you are able to get those memories from the Ley Lines?"
"That is a professional secret, I'm afraid." Again, Denki feels him smile, even despite his skull remaining blank. He senses no sarcasm or mockery in his voice. "Now, Sakurai Denki, I expect you have a lot of questions about your predicament. Ask now, and I will answer you."
Denki considers this for a moment, before crafting his reply. "Where am I?"
"You are in the city of Castra, the capital of the Necro Archon's nation. You would not be able to find it on any maps of Teyvat, aside from our own of course. For centuries it has been hidden from mortal eyes."
"For what purpose? I-if I may ask."
The Watcher bites down on another piece of candy. "Strategic reasons. The Necro Archon's relationship with The Seven is complicated, you see. I'm guessing you want to know more about him?"
Denki nods. Liao Wei comes into the room, and places a small, wooden saucer, filled to the brim with dark liquid. Just a whiff confirms the contents. Much to his surprise, just when he is about to ask for seconds, a bigger bowl of rice is placed in front of him. Chef Liao thwarts his attempt at speaking.
"I hope you don't mind, Master Denki, but I brought you a second serving. You don't look like a bountiful eater." He bows slightly. "Forgive the comment."
"N-no, it's fine, chef. And please, call me by my name. I don't deserve-"
"I apologize, Master Denki, but this is what courtesy requires." He quickly backs towards the door. "Now excuse me, please. I will go prepare the dessert now."
He leaves before Denki can utter a single word. Watcher chuckles.
"The Necro Archon chose him personally."
Denki furrows his brow. "How come? Isn't he unable to taste? Since, he's the god of undead…"
"He can take on many forms, both living and undead. Though most times he remains in a skeletal body, on occasion he changes to a mortal one. He visited the official cooking contest under a mortal disguise, one that he removed only in front of the winner." He sighs. "Liao's face will forever be ingrained in my mind."
"What is his name?"
"His divine name is Beleth, although here, in the nation of Umbra, he is known as The Great One."
"Great One… If I am allowed to ask, how did he earn this title?"
Watcher scoffs. "His might is beyond comparison in the mainland. Throughout history, The Great One bested gods of power beyond the human mind to comprehend. For centuries He has been watching over the people of Umbra, granting us protection and mercy."
"I understand." Denki adds the final spoon of sauce to his food. "What happened to Inazuma while I was… gone?"
"Well, I don't have good news. The Fatui conspiracy resulted in a civil war, and the introduction of the Sakoku Decree. Inazuma has been sealed off from the rest of the continent."
Denki nods slightly. He moves around the final grains of rice on his plate, speechless.
What was he expecting even? The Kamisato Clan to rescue the situation? Kujou Sara to see through the lies? The Raiden Shogun to save her loyal subjects?
His head throbs. He moves his hand to caress his forehead.
"The sacrifice of yourself and your parents has gone to waste. Nobody questioned the Archon's decision. Especially not the Guuji. Lives sacrificed, by soldiers, nobles and commoners alike, all for nothing."
"S-stop! Do you have to r-rub it in?!" Denki lashes out, but quickly hides his face in his hands. "Just… please. Don't." He does his best to hide the quivering of his voice, to little effect.
"Not all is lost. You are back, Denki, the last of the Sakurai. The Necro Archon gave you a chance, one you should not waste. A chance for vengeance."
Vengeance. A part of him wants to lie down, to never get up again. He doesn't want to feel the pain of this new body, he doesn't want to remember past agony. He just wants to go, where it doesn't matter. Beyond this world. A part of him wants the peacefulness of death.
Yet another craves for something more. He held onto his life, his final possession for eight painful years, just to trample on his effort now? He survived, prevailed. He is still young. He has the time to make things right. To make then pay.
He grits his teeth, and wipes his eyes with his forearm.
"What is the price?" Denki looks up at the Watcher. "What does The Great One expect in return?"
"Your services, Sakurai Denki. You will be fed, clothed, kept warm and trained, and as payment the Necro Archon will make use of your skills. You have already been brought back here, have you not?" The Watcher leans forward, and tilts his head slightly. "Rejection of such an offer would be foolish and disrespectful of his generosity."
Denki takes a deep breath, finally regaining clarity of mind. "I accept the offer. Help me, and I will join your ranks."
"A good choice, human." The Watcher raises up. "Come now. Let us meet your new mentor."