One hour had passed since Aether had taken Paimon to bed, leaving Momon alone with his thoughts. The silence was heavy, but Momon welcomed it, letting his mind wander as he stared into the dancing flames.
"Man…" he muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl that barely reached his own ears. "I probably shouldn't have been so open with him about the past. Eighty percent of what I told him was a lie."
A dry chuckle escaped him, though it lacked humor. Momon wasn't what he claimed to be—a millennia-old undead overlord, forged in the crucible of endless strife and darkness. The truth was far more mundane, even pathetic by his own admission.
He was a YGGDRASIL player—a salaryman from a dystopian Japan in the year 2138. The memories of his old life flashed briefly in his mind: the oppressive gray skies of a world dominated by megacorporations, the suffocating routine of his daily grind, and the fleeting moments of joy he'd found in the virtual paradise of YGGDRASIL.
For twelve years, that game had been his escape, his solace. In its vibrant and limitless world, he had forged bonds with companions who felt like family, carving out a life as Momon, his powerful and mysterious avatar. And now, fate had given him the ultimate gift.
"Living in Teyvat… as my avatar…" he murmured, his voice tinged with wonder. "It's like the world itself decided to reward me. I'm no longer bound by that hollow existence. Here… I'm someone extraordinary."
He clenched a gloved hand into a fist, watching the light from the fire reflect off the polished surface of his gauntlet. His human life, his past as a lonely salaryman—it felt like a distant memory, one he was determined to bury forever. He wasn't that man anymore. He was Momon, the Overlord of YGGDRASIL, a figure whose lore and legend were entirely his to shape.
"So, when Aether eventually asks for the 'truth'—and he will, out of that unyielding curiosity of his—'" he said softly, his tone growing colder, "I'll give him the truth I've chosen. I'll tell him about YGGDRASIL, about Helheim, and the endless wars of that world. That's who I am now. That's all that matters."
Yet, despite his resolve, a pang of unease stirred within him. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
"Still… it feels so lame to lie," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "But at least about my undead self and YGGDRASIL… that part's actually true."
His mask tilted upward, his gaze lingering on the darkened ceiling. The faint sound of the wind brushing against the house broke the silence for a moment.
"It doesn't matter," he said after a pause, his voice firm once more. "The past is dead, just like the man I used to be. This world is mine now, and I'll make my story here, in Teyvat."
The soft crackling of the fire filled the otherwise silent room as Momon stood lost in his thoughts. The weight of his fabricated truths and carefully constructed persona lingered in his mind like a shadow. But his reverie was suddenly interrupted.
Faint sounds and distant voices reached his ears, carried on the still night air. To most, it would have been little more than an indistinct murmur, but to Momon's heightened undead senses, it was clear as day. His crimson eyes—hidden beneath his mask—narrowed. There were intruders near Konda Village.
The faint chatter carried a tone of caution and purpose, unmistakable signs of people who weren't wandering aimlessly. These were not villagers. "Mysterious individuals," he muttered to himself. "Approaching under the cover of darkness… how predictable."
Without hesitation, Momon turned away from the hearth. With a wave of his hand, the fire extinguished instantly, plunging the room into darkness. For anyone else, the abrupt loss of light would have been disorienting, but for Momon, his vision remained as sharp as daylight. The dark was his ally, not his enemy.
He moved toward the window with the precision of a predator, his footsteps utterly silent. Drawing aside the curtain just slightly, he peered out toward the surrounding hills that framed the edge of Konda Village. His gaze swept the landscape, scanning for any movement. The faint outline of figures caught his attention, silhouetted against the starlit horizon.
"I can hear you," he murmured, his voice barely audible but laden with menace.
Satisfied, Momon stepped back from the window and activated his teleportation skill. In an instant, his form vanished, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of displaced air.
The next moment, he reappeared outside, standing in the shadow of the house. The chill of the night was palpable, but it didn't faze him in the slightest. His skeletal form beneath the armor was impervious to such sensations.
Momon began to walk toward the hills, his movements deliberate and noiseless. The faint rustle of grass under his boots was the only sound, blending seamlessly with the ambient night. His imposing figure seemed to melt into the darkness, an enigmatic specter moving with unerring purpose.
As he ascended the gentle slope, the voices grew clearer, their words almost discernible. Momon's eyes narrowed further. Whoever these individuals were, they would soon realize the folly of approaching his territory uninvited.
The faint glow of the moon caught the edges of his armor as he reached the crest of the hill. Pausing for a brief moment, he let his senses expand, scanning not just with sight but with the supernatural awareness that came from his undead nature. He could feel their presence—close, wary, and undoubtedly prepared for confrontation.
Ten Fatui troops moved with practiced precision, their heavy boots crunching against the dirt in rhythm. At their head, a tall, elegant figure strode with measured grace—a Mirror Maiden. Her shimmering form seemed to reflect the moon itself, an ethereal beauty masking the menace beneath.
Ahead of her, a Pyro Agent led the group, his red-tinted mask giving him the appearance of a stalking predator. He glanced back over his shoulder and spoke in a hushed but firm tone.
"They're sleeping in this village, just as I reported," the Pyro Agent said.
The Mirror Maiden's lips curved into a faint, disdainful smile. "Sleeping… how quaint. So the infamous Honorary Knights have found shelter among these peasants." Her voice was smooth yet sharp, carrying a dangerous edge.
"They spoke to the village chief earlier," the Pyro Agent added. "It seems the locals trust them."
The Mirror Maiden clicked her tongue in irritation. "Trust? Foolish sentiment. These outlanders have no place in Inazuma, no matter how many titles or deeds they claim." Her mirrored shield gleamed as she gestured toward the village in the distance. "But how did they even leave Ritou? The Sakoku Decree should have kept them contained."
A Cryo Cicin Mage, her delicate mask hiding a mischievous smile, chimed in from the side of the group. "That servant of the Kamisato Clan must have meddled in this," she said with a hint of amusement. "The Shirasagi Himegimi's retainers are always sticking their noses where they don't belong."
The Mirror Maiden stopped abruptly, her piercing gaze sweeping over the mage. "Focus, mage. We are not here to gossip about the Kamisato Clan."
The Cryo Cicin Mage raised her hands in mock surrender, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "Of course, my lady. But remind me—why are we here again? It seems like an awful lot of effort for a few outlanders."
"To stop them from interfering with Lady Signora's plans," the Mirror Maiden replied coldly. "Their meddling ends tonight. Both the Traveler and that… anomaly who calls himself Momon."
The Cryo Cicin Mage's playful demeanor faltered, her tone turning more serious. "I've heard a lot about those two, especially Momon. The stories about him are... unsettling. Ridiculously strong doesn't even begin to cover it."
The Pyro Agent let out a low growl. "Stories are just that—stories. No one is invincible."
The Mirror Maiden's expression remained composed, but her voice carried an icy resolve. "Whether the stories are exaggerated or not, it doesn't matter. If they pose a threat to Lady Signora, we will eliminate them."
The stillness of the night was pierced by the deep, resonant voice that seemed to reverberate through the trees.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."
The words carried an eerie weight, commanding attention as if spoken by an arbiter of fate itself. The Fatui operatives, seasoned and hardened as they were, instinctively shifted into defensive stances, their weapons gleaming under the faint moonlight.
"Who's there?!" the Mirror Maiden demanded, her voice sharp with both authority and apprehension.
From the shadows beneath a gnarled tree, a figure emerged, tall and foreboding. Momon stepped forward, the faint silver glow of the moonlight reflecting off his dark armor and the eerie crimson eyes of his mask. His presence alone seemed to drain the warmth from the air, replacing it with an oppressive sense of inevitability. The Fatui instinctively took a few steps back, their confidence wavering.
"I assume," Momon began, his voice heavy and calm, "you lot are not here with good intentions."
The Mirror Maiden narrowed her eyes, her hands gripping her catalyst tightly. "We know that your arrival in Inazuma will only disrupt the Fatui's operations. We've come to stop you before you become a bigger problem."
Momon tilted his head slightly, a motion that felt more predatory than curious. "Is that right? And how, pray tell, do you plan to accomplish that?"
Without another word, the Mirror Maiden raised her catalyst, her voice ringing out as she cast her spell. "Mirror Cage!"
Shimmering shards of reflective glass materialized around Momon, encircling him in an intricate, crystalline prison. The moonlight refracted off the mirrors, casting fragmented beams of light across the battlefield. The Fatui Agent, seizing the opportunity, sprinted forward with his pyro knives glowing ominously. His movements were swift and calculated, aiming to strike a devastating blow.
But as the Agent closed in, the cage shattered—not with a roar of resistance, but with the effortless motion of Momon raising his arm. The shards fell away like fragile pieces of a child's sandcastle under the tide. The spectacle stunned the Fatui, their confidence shaken as they witnessed the supposed impenetrable trap crumble into nothingness.
Before the Agent could even process what had happened, Momon's gauntleted hand lashed out, gripping the man's face with inhuman strength. The sharp sound of his momentum halting filled the air as the Agent's feet dangled helplessly above the ground.
The Fatui operatives stared in horror, their breaths caught in their throats. "What the—?!" one of them stammered, his voice cracking under the pressure of fear.
The Agent struggled violently, clawing at Momon's hand in a futile attempt to free himself. The grip tightened. A sickening crack echoed as the mask on the Agent's face splintered, revealing wide, terrified eyes. Momon's fingers dug deeper, and with a final, crushing squeeze, the skull gave way. The Agent's body went limp as the lifeless form crumpled to the ground when Momon released him.
Silence fell like a heavy shroud, broken only by the shallow, panicked breaths of the remaining Fatui. The Pyroslinger raised his rifle, his trembling hands betraying the fear he couldn't suppress. The barrel quivered as he aimed at the towering figure, sweat pouring down his face.
Momon turned his head slowly, his crimson eyes locking onto the Pyroslinger. The aura of malice and absolute dominance he exuded was suffocating. "Do you still think," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, "that stopping me was a wise decision?"
The Pyroslinger faltered, his finger hovering over the trigger but unable to pull it. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. Behind him, the Mirror Maiden clenched her teeth, her hands glowing as she prepared another spell, though doubt flickered in her gaze.
A shimmering portal of glass and light erupted behind the Mirror Maiden, reflecting the moonlight in fractured rays. Without hesitation, she spun on her heel and darted through it.
"Mirror Portal!" she shouted, her voice echoing as the portal began to shimmer and ripple with energy.
"No! Don't leave us!" The Cryo Cicin Mage reached out toward the vanishing figure, her voice trembling with disbelief. But it was too late—the Mirror Maiden was gone, leaving the group of Fatui soldiers stranded in the presence of a monster.
Momon watched the scene unfold with an eerie calm, his mask tilting slightly as if amused. "Well, well, well," he said, his deep voice carrying an almost mocking tone. "Would you look at that? She left her comrades in darkness."
The remaining Fatui froze in place, their weapons drawn but their will to fight fading with every passing second. Their leader was gone, abandoning them to face a foe who had just crushed one of their comrades with little effort.
"What do we do?" one Pyroslinger whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Fight? Run? I…" another stammered, but his words failed him as Momon began to move.
Momon's crimson gaze turned toward the Cryo Cicin Mage, who stood trembling, her breath shallow and uneven. Her legs wobbled beneath her until she collapsed to her knees, her head bowed as tears welled in her eyes. The sheer presence of Momon was suffocating, an invisible weight that pressed down on her soul.
The other Fatui agents instinctively stepped back, their weapons still raised but their hands shaking violently. They glanced at one another, silently debating whether to flee or fight. But neither option seemed to offer salvation.
Momon walked toward the Cryo Cicin Mage, his steps measured and deliberate. Each movement seemed to echo with an ominous finality.
"You… you will help me with something," Momon said, his tone as cold and commanding as the grave.
The mage's eyes widened in confusion and fear. "H-huh? What… what do you mean?" she stammered.
Momon raised a gauntleted hand, the faint glow of magical energy swirling around his fingers. "[Create High Tier Vampire – Blood Empress," he intoned, his voice resonating with arcane power.
A crimson liquid erupted around the Cryo Cicin Mage, engulfing her in a pulsating wave of blood-like energy. The sight was grotesque, the viscous substance wrapping around her body and forcing itself into her mouth. Her muffled screams filled the air, sending chills through the remaining Fatui.
"What… what's happening to her?!" one of the agents gasped, his voice breaking with terror.
"I-I don't know!" another cried out, his voice cracking.
The mage's form writhed as the crimson liquid seeped into her, its glow fading to reveal her transformed body. She stood slowly, her movements unnatural, like a puppet being pulled by unseen strings. Her pale skin seemed to radiate an eerie light, and when she removed her mask and hood, her once-blue eyes were now a vivid, predatory crimson.
"Ivana?" one of her comrades whispered, his voice quivering. "Are you… okay?"
Ivana turned her head toward him, her lips curling into a smile that revealed elongated, razor-sharp fangs. Her new form exuded an unsettling aura of power and hunger.
She dropped to her knees before Momon, her crimson eyes shining with a newfound loyalty. "I am at your command, Supreme One!" she declared, her voice steady and reverent.
Momon regarded her for a moment before speaking. "What is your name?"
"Ivana, my Lord," she replied, bowing her head deeply.
"I have a mission for you," Momon said, his tone as calm as it was authoritative. "But first, you need to feed. Take care of them."
Ivana rose to her feet, turning her gaze toward her former comrades. Her smile widened as she took a slow, deliberate step toward them. Her fangs gleamed in the pale moonlight, and a predatory glint danced in her crimson eyes.
"Wait… Ivana, it's us! We're your friends!" one of the Fatui pleaded, backing away.
She tilted her head, her smile unchanging. "Friends?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "I don't remember you being my friends."
With that, she lunged, her movements a blur. The night erupted in chaos as Ivana descended upon her former allies. Their screams echoed through the darkness, soon fading into the chilling silence of the night.
Momon stood motionless, watching the carnage unfold with an air of detachment. When it was over, Ivana returned to him, her crimson eyes glowing brightly, her lips stained with blood.
"The task is complete, my Lord," she said, bowing low.
Momon nodded. "Good. Now, about your mission..."