As Aether and Paimon left the Northland Bank, the atmosphere around them felt heavy. Liyue's bustling streets were just a few turns away, but here, they found a quiet alleyway where they could finally breathe. The pale light of dusk cast long shadows across the walls, lending an eerie calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm of emotions swirling within Aether's mind.

Paimon hovered close to Aether, her tiny face furrowed with concern as she tried to process what they'd just discovered.

"To think that Mister Zhongli was actually Rex Lapis… It's just unbelievable," Paimon murmured, glancing at Aether with wide eyes. "And all the while, the people of Liyue are still mourning his death, and he's alive right under their noses! How can someone be so… calm about something like this?"

Aether glanced around, lowering his voice. "Keep it down, Paimon. This is one secret that needs to stay just between us. If the people find out that the Geo Archon is alive, it could turn Liyue upside down. With all the changes he's planning, that kind of chaos would destroy everything he's working for."

Paimon crossed her arms, nodding thoughtfully. "You're probably right… but it still feels wrong, doesn't it? Zhongli went along with the Fatui and handed over his Gnosis, and now the Fatui have what they want. It's like… he didn't care that much about what might happen."

Aether's jaw tightened as he pondered her words. "Maybe he believes in his plan for Liyue enough to take that risk. But there's one other person who deserves to know about all of this…"

Paimon immediately caught on. "You're talking about Momon, aren't you? But… you think he'll be okay with us letting the Fatui walk away with the Geo Archon's Gnosis?"

Aether looked off into the distance, watching the colors of the setting sun bleed across the sky. Momon was powerful, formidable, and intensely principled—qualities that made him both a valuable ally and someone who would likely view their inaction with disappointment. Yet Aether knew that keeping this secret from Momon, after everything they'd been through together, would be unwise.

"We've faced too much together to keep secrets like this from him," Aether replied, his voice steady with conviction. "It's only right that we're honest with him, no matter how he reacts. He's our companion, and if we're going to earn his trust, we need to trust him, too."

Paimon floated in silence for a moment, then nodded, her voice softening with resolve. "You're right. Momon deserves to know… even if he might think we should've done more."

"I've heard enough…" The soft rustle of robes and a faint, chilling whisper cut through the empty street like a knife.

Aether and Paimon froze, their heads whipping around to find the source of the voice. "Did… did you hear that?" Paimon stammered, clinging to Aether's arm with wide eyes.

Before Aether could answer, the voice spoke again, closer this time. "I'm right here."

They turned in unison—and nearly jumped out of their skins. Towering over them, cloaked in shadow and imposing as ever, stood Momon. He seemed to have emerged from the shadows themselves, his mask unreadable and the dark cloak around him adding to his ominous presence.

"W-Woah! You scared Paimon half to death!" Paimon yelped, hovering back a bit to put distance between herself and the silent figure.

"Momon," Aether began, finally finding his voice, "where have you been all morning? We thought you'd gone somewhere else in the city."

Momon's gaze remained steady, and though his face was hidden, his tone betrayed a slight hint of amusement. "I apologize. Ningguang called me to the Jade Chamber. It was an… interesting meeting."

"Oh, so you were with Ningguang…" Aether nodded, though he still seemed unsettled by Momon's sudden arrival. "I see, but what did you mean by 'I've heard enough?'"

Momon crossed his arms, his voice becoming more serious. "The Geo Archon, the two Fatui Harbingers, the Gnosis…" He paused for effect, letting the weight of each word sink in. "Should I continue?"

Aether's eyes widened. "Wait… you mean you… you heard everything?"

"Yes," Momon confirmed, his tone unyielding. "I returned from the Jade Chamber looking for you two. I noticed you heading toward that building," he gestured in the direction of the Northland Bank, "and sensed a considerable surge of power. It seemed suspicious, so I used an invisibility spell, entered, and heard everything."

Paimon's mouth fell open. "You mean… you were there the whole time?"

Momon gave a slow nod. "Observing."

Aether's shoulders slumped a little. He had expected this moment to be difficult, but not like this. "Momon, I… We didn't mean to keep it from you. There was just so much happening, and we… we didn't know what you'd think."

Momon's gaze held steady, the dark lenses of his mask hiding his expression, but the weight of his presence was clear. "And what did you think I would do? My loyalty lies with those I call allies, Aether. But if you begin to doubt that…" He let the sentence hang, the tension thick in the air.

"It's not that, I promise," Aether said hurriedly, the urgency in his tone clear. "We trust you. This whole thing with the Fatui, the Archons, it's just… complicated."

"Yeah, really complicated," Paimon added, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, it's kinda nice to have you around, even if you're like… super scary sometimes."

For a moment, Momon remained silent, his unreadable mask fixed on the two of them, and then he gave a slow nod. "Look, you two," Momon's voice softened slightly, yet his tone was firm. "Let's be real about this. It's fine to keep secrets that are personal, things that are only important to you. I have mine too. But when it gets to the point where you're staring death in the face…" He let the words linger, his gaze settling on Aether.

Aether swallowed, feeling the weight of Momon's words sink in. He knew exactly what Momon was implying—the confrontation with Signora and Childe had been a close call, too close. If things had taken a different turn, he and Paimon might not have walked out of the Northland Bank at all.

"You're right," Aether replied, his tone sincere. "I… I didn't realize how dangerous it would get. Signora and Childe… They wouldn't have hesitated if we had tried to stop them from taking the Gnosis."

Paimon hovered closer to Aether, visibly shaken as she remembered Signora's cold, mocking gaze and Childe's unpredictable nature. "Yeah… they were really scary. Paimon didn't think it would get that serious."

"Exactly," Momon continued, his tone unwavering. "When survival is on the line, any hidden truths are a potential risk—to you, to each other, and to anyone who might come to your aid. We don't have the luxury of secrets when facing enemies like the Fatui."

Aether looked down, understanding now just how close they had come to real danger. "We won't make that mistake again, Momon," he said, determination filling his voice. "From now on, if there's something this big… something that could put any of us in danger, you'll be the first to know."

Paimon nodded, her usual cheer replaced with a rare solemnity. "Yeah! We're a team, right? And Paimon's not ready to get fried by any Harbingers anytime soon!"

"It's fine, Paimon," Momon said, his tone steady but laced with frustration. "Now, this Zhongli guy—'Geo Archon' or not—I'll be honest, I can't stand his approach. A plan just to step down from his divine role? It's reckless, leaving everyone else to clean up the mess in the wake of his decision. But it's not our place to judge him, not fully. We're not from here; we're just travelers who got tangled up in his scheme."

Aether let out a slow breath, the weight of the truth heavy on his shoulders. "I don't even know what to do with this information. Revealing Rex Lapis is still alive could unravel everything. It's huge… this could bring a whole new crisis to Liyue if it ever got out."

Momon nodded, his expression grim. "Exactly. When I spoke with Ningguang, I suggested that the Fatui might be orchestrating something here. What happened in Mondstadt showed their tactics well enough. But telling the world that their Geo Archon is still alive and willingly gave up his Gnosis… that's not news people are ready to handle."

Paimon glanced between them, worry plain on her face. "So… what do we do? Do we keep this secret too?"

Momon's gaze sharpened as he looked back at them. "For now, yes. We'll monitor the situation closely. If the Fatui escalates things, we may have to reconsider. But until then, let's keep this between us. There's no telling how the people of Liyue—or the Adepti—would react if they knew the truth."

Aether and Paimon exchanged a nod, each of them understanding that this was a burden they'd bear together.

"Now what do we do, Aether? Should we stay for a few days here, or head to the next nation?" Momon asked, his tone contemplative as he surveyed the lively streets of Liyue bustling with merchants and citizens going about their day.

Aether paused, thinking over their recent experiences and the weight of the secrets they carried. "I say we stay for a few days. There's a lot to unpack from everything we've learned. What do you think?"

Momon nodded thoughtfully, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Very well. I'd like to visit one of my domains for a few hours, if you don't mind."

"Oh, sure, Momon!" Aether replied, feeling a mix of curiosity and respect. He knew that while they had their own challenges, Momon had his own affairs to attend to.

Paimon, ever the opportunist, chimed in with a bright smile. "Hey! There are rumors that a big feast will be happening soon in Liyue! You don't wanna miss it!" Her eyes sparkled with excitement, picturing tables laden with delectable food and treats.

Momon raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Uh, have fun, I guess. Goodbye for now." With a quick nod to Aether and Paimon, he vanished into thin air, leaving behind a faint shimmer of energy in his wake.

As the world around him shifted, Momon found himself soaring above the rolling hills and lush fields of Mondstadt once again. The familiar landscape stretched out beneath him, the sunlight bathing everything in a warm glow.

In his eyes, the serene beauty of Mondstadt was more captivating than the bustling markets of Liyue. The sky seemed infinitely blue, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind created a melody that soothed him.

"Now, where should I go… Dragonspine or Old Mondstadt?" he pondered, his gaze drifting toward the distant silhouette of Dragonspine, its dark, jagged peaks looming ominously against the horizon. The cold region called to him with an allure of mystery and adventure, contrasting starkly with the warmth of the land below.

"Alright, let's go there," With a swift movement, he adjusted his course, flying effortlessly toward the frosty heights of Dragonspine. As he approached, the temperature dropped, and a brisk wind whipped around him, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

The frigid winds of Dragonspine whirled around Momon as he descended, each gust sharp enough to chill even the hardiest of adventurers. But to him, the biting cold was nothing more than a gentle breeze, harmlessly brushing past his skeletal form. The frost that blanketed the ground crunched under his heavy steps, though it did not cling to him like it would a living body. His undead form moved with ease through the harsh landscape, untouched by the frost that crept over stones and branches.

Momon's gaze swept over the ice-laden cliffs and deep shadows cast by towering rock formations, his sharp eyes catching details of frost-encased flora and the ever-present lingering mist.

Crossing the icy river and stepping into Wyrmrest Valley, Momon paused, taking in the unexpected scene before him. A sprawling Fatui camp lay nestled against the rocky cliffs, with rows of neatly pitched tents and banners flapping in the cold wind. Dozens of Fatui agents milled about, some tending to fires, others checking their gear or speaking in low voices. The air was tense, filled with the hum of arcane power and the clink of weaponry.

"What are all these goons doing here?" he thought, eyeing the soldiers with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Momon walked steadily into the Fatui camp, his dark form stark against the white snow, moving without haste or hesitation. The first guards spotted him quickly, stepping into his path with weapons raised.

"Hey, you! Where the hell do you think you're going?" barked a Fatui Pyro Agent, his blade glinting in the dim light of the snowy valley. "Turn around and go back to where you came from!"

Momon stopped, his shadow casting a long, ominous line across the snow, and tilted his head slightly. "Oh, since you've given me a chance to leave, I'll be courteous enough to return it. Pack your things and get off my land."

The Fatui soldiers exchanged bewildered glances before laughter erupted from a Pyroslinger Bracer nearby. "Pfff, hahahaha! What is this clown on about?"

Another soldier, the Anemoboxer Vanguard, sneered and cracked his knuckles, his thick gauntlets ready for a fight. "Hey, clown—who died and made this patch of frozen hell your land? You've got a few seconds to turn around and crawl out of here before we turn you into frozen mince."

"You heard him. Scram before things get ugly." Pyroslinger Bracer aimed his rifle at him.

Momon sighed, as though mildly inconvenienced. "I gave you a chance to leave with your lives," he said, his voice low and cold as the air around them. "But arrogance rarely listens to reason."

The Vanguard's eyes narrowed. "That's it—I'm knocking his lights out."

The Anemoboxer Vanguard fed up, growled and lunged toward Momon, raising his fist high, prepared to smash through the stranger's mask. But Momon didn't flinch. Instead, he slowly raised a hand, and between his fingers formed the ghostly outline of a pulsing, ethereal heart.

"[Grasp Heart," Momon intoned, his voice like a whispered death knell.

Instantly, the Anemoboxer Vanguard froze mid-swing, his eyes widening with horror as his own heart, though untouched, felt as if it were caught in an iron grip. In the silence that followed, his body went limp, collapsing lifelessly into the snow, his gaze still fixed on Momon's unreadable mask.

A stunned hush fell over the remaining Fatui. A few of them took a step back, their earlier bravado now replaced by a cold dread.

"What… what did he do?" stammered a Cryogunner Legionnaire, his voice shaking, his hand shivering as he gripped his weapon tighter.

Momon watched the fallen Anemoboxer's body lying limp in the snow, an idea forming in his mind. He extended his hand, fingers poised with purpose, and whispered, "[Create High-Tier Undead - Undead Berserker]."

A strange, viscous black liquid began to materialize, slithering over the snow like an oily shadow before seeping into the corpse. The Fatui skirmishers took several steps back, murmuring frantically as they watched this horrific spectacle unfold. The liquid invaded every inch of the body, and with a shudder, the lifeless form began to rise like a puppet on invisible strings.

Momon observed intently, noting the differences in the magic's effect here compared to his experiences in YGGDRASIL. This new world had adapted his skill in a way he had not anticipated, using the very corpse as a base rather than creating one from dark energies alone. The dead Fatui's form stretched and morphed, enlarging until it towered three meters high, encased in an ominous, twisted armor that seemed forged from darkness itself.

The creature stood before the horrified soldiers, an abomination of metal and malice. The once-human shape was now encased in an armor blacker than the night, jagged and brutal, with grotesque spikes jutting from the shoulders and limbs. A colossal, serrated greatsword rested in its hands, the blade's edges jagged and faintly pulsing as if alive. From beneath its helm, two glowing red orbs burned like embers, gazing with unseeing rage at the Fatui before it.

The Fatui skirmishers stumbled back, faces pale, their eyes glued to the monstrosity in front of them. Some gasped audibly, and one of them, barely containing his terror, stammered, "W-What is that… that thing?!"

Momon's voice was calm, almost dispassionate. "This 'thing' was your comrade. Consider it a gift for ignoring my warning."

He gestured toward the Undead Berserker. The creature responded with a thunderous step forward, the snow crunching beneath its armored feet. It raised its greatsword, and the dim light of Dragonspine glinted off its blade, casting a harsh, cold gleam across the snow.

One of the Pyro Agents found his voice, trembling but defiant. "Stay back! W-We're not afraid of some… some demon!"

But his voice faltered as the Berserker lunged, its greatsword carving through the air with deadly grace. With unnatural speed for its massive size, the Undead Berserker descended upon the Fatui, each strike of its blade echoing with sickening finality.

Momon watched the chaos unfold, his expression unreadable. The Fatui's initial resistance melted into desperation, their coordinated shouts devolving into screams. The Berserker moved through them with merciless efficiency, a dark force of destruction.

The frigid air crackled with tension as the Cryogunner Legionnaire, desperation clawing at his throat, aimed his weapon at the towering Undead Berserker. "You won't get away with this!" he shouted, unleashing a torrent of icy shards that spiraled toward the monster. But to his shock, the frozen projectiles shattered harmlessly upon impact with the Berserker's dark armor, leaving not even a scratch.

The Berserker turned, its red eyes glowing with an insatiable hunger for destruction. It raised its colossal greatsword, the blade gleaming ominously as it descended in a swift arc, cleaving the Cryogunner in half as if he were nothing more than a mere onion, his body collapsing into the snow with a dull thud.

With an echoing, guttural roar, the Berserker raised its sword, soaked in blood and snow, and declared, "FEEL THE WRATH OF THE SUPREME ONE!" Its voice boomed across the camp, an unnatural, chilling sound that sent a wave of terror through the remaining Fatui soldiers.

Momon stood off to the side, a mixture of awe and satisfaction flooding through him. "Incredible," he muttered under his breath, marveling at how his creation exhibited both strength and the capacity for speech. This was a development he hadn't anticipated, a manifestation of his power over death that both intrigued and thrilled him.

A Pyroslinger Bracer, hands trembling, raised his rifle and fired desperately. "Die! Die! Die!" he screamed, unloading round after round. Each bullet ricocheted off the Berserker's armor harmlessly, clinking away like pebbles on a mountain. The undead monster advanced, each step leaving deep prints in the snow, stained red with the blood of its victims. Its armor was spattered with gruesome evidence of the massacre, a stark, horrifying sight against the white landscape.

The Pyroslinger Bracer's rifle clicked, out of ammo. Panicked, he dropped it, stumbling backward as the Berserker closed the distance. The glow from its helmet's eyes seemed to grow brighter as it neared, casting a hellish red glow on the terrified Bracer.

"W-Wait, please! Don't–" he choked, his voice a feeble whimper.

The Berserker thrust its massive sword through the man's chest, effortlessly puncturing flesh, bone, and armor. It didn't stop there, however; with each powerful, merciless twist, it tore the man's body apart, leaving only a shattered, mangled shell.

The camp had turned into a scene of pure horror. Mangled bodies, torn limbs, and splattered blood dotted the once-organized Fatui encampment, now silent and still but for the steady snowfall covering the gruesome remains. The once-intimidating Fatui soldiers lay lifeless in grotesque disarray, a brutal reminder of the Berserker's wrath.

Momon watched the carnage with an odd sense of satisfaction, nodding approvingly. He stepped forward, observing his creation with a mixture of awe and intrigue. "Good job, Berserker," he said, his tone both pleased and impressed.

The Berserker straightened, its crimson gaze focused on Momon with unwavering loyalty. "Always ready for orders, my lord," it responded in a deep, distorted voice.

Momon's curiosity was piqued again; this undead was far more than a mindless creation. "Your ability to speak is intriguing. What else can you do?" he mused, already contemplating the potential this creature might hold.

The Berserker straightened, its helmet tilting slightly as if it were pondering. "I exist to serve you, my lord. I can summon darkness, wield destruction, and obey your will."

The brutal symphony of death and chaos unfolded around them, and for a fleeting moment, Momon felt the thrill of absolute power. Here, amidst the carnage, he was not just an observer; he was a force to be reckoned with, a master of the undead who could command fear itself.

Momon wandered through the remnants of the camp, stepping carefully over the bodies strewn about in the snow. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the eerie stillness that followed the massacre left a chilling silence in its wake. He paused to examine the various tents, their flaps flapping gently in the frigid breeze, as if the camp itself were trying to shake off the horror that had just unfolded.

Settling down in the central area, he found a table cluttered with scattered papers, maps, and crude drawings. As he sifted through the documents, his skeletal fingers moved with surprising dexterity, delicately picking up the pages and scanning their contents.

The reports detailed supply runs, strategic positions, and notes on the local wildlife, but there was something unsettling about the absence of mention regarding any of the Fatui Harbingers.

His brow furrowed as he read on, realizing that these troops had been operating in Dragonspine under the radar. "No Knights of Favonius or adventurers willing to chase them into these treacherous mountains," he mused. It seemed the Fatui were using the remoteness of the region to their advantage, allowing them to carry out their operations unimpeded.

He picked up a particularly crumpled page, its edges frayed from handling. It read:

"Resources secured. No contact with higher command. Continue operations as planned. Keep watch for any uninvited guests. Dragonspine's isolation gives us an opportunity to strengthen our position."

His thoughts were interrupted by a low growl from the Undead Berserker, who stood sentinel at the edge of the camp, its glowing red eyes scanning the horizon. "My lord, should we seek out the remaining Fatui or secure our position here?" the Berserker asked, its voice a rumbling echo that carried authority.

Momon stood there, perplexed, staring at the towering Undead Berserker that loomed over the battlefield. In his previous experience within YGGDRASIL, he had expected his summoned creatures to dissipate after a brief period. Yet here, before him, this monstrous entity remained, an eerie testament to his newfound powers.

"Berserker, shouldn't you be disappearing? I mean, your time is up," he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"My lord… I'm here to serve you for eternity," the Undead Berserker replied, its voice resonating with a chilling authority that sent a shiver down Momon's spine. The sentiment was unwavering, filled with an almost fervent devotion.

Momon turned away, lost in thought, his mind racing. "For eternity… does that mean using a corpse allows my undead creations to stay here permanently?!" The realization hit him like a thunderclap, electrifying his senses. This was revolutionary. The implications were staggering. If he could summon high-level undead servants that remained bound to him, he could create an unstoppable force, capable of defending his domains against any who dared to intrude.

A grin crept across his skeletal visage, excitement bubbling within him like an uncontainable fire. "Very well, Berserker. I want you to gather all the corpses in one place," he commanded, his voice steady and filled with newfound authority.

"Yes, my lord!" the Berserker responded with a swift nod, its movements precise and deliberate. It marched off into the carnage of the battlefield, gathering the remains of the fallen Fatui soldiers with grim efficiency.

Momon watched as the Berserker worked, its cold, dark armor gleaming dully in the muted light of Dragonspine. With each body it lifted, he felt a surge of power. This was more than just a test of his abilities; it was a chance to build an army. Each corpse brought back from the brink of death was not merely a soldier but a piece of a grander design, a step toward his ultimate goal.

"Make haste, Berserker! We don't have all day," Momon called out, urging the creature on.

"Of course, my lord. Your wish is my command!" The Undead Berserker's voice carried a tone of loyalty that resonated in the chilling air, an echo of the dark pact forged between them.

As the Berserker continued its grim task, Momon began to formulate his next move. "If I can raise enough of them, I could patrol my domains, eliminate the mindless monsters that plague this land, and keep enemies at bay. The potential here is limitless!"

Once the Undead Berserker had gathered the bodies into a macabre pile, it returned, standing at attention before Momon. "All collected, my lord. What are your orders?"

"Step aside." As the Berserker obediently stepped aside, Momon raised his skeletal hands once more, channeling the dark energy within him. Shadows swirled and coalesced into the twisted forms of three powerful undead beings, each more formidable than the last.

With a steady, commanding voice, he called forth the first. "[Create High-Tier Undead - Grim Reaper Thanatos]!"

The ground trembled slightly, and out of a billowing cloud of dark mist emerged a towering figure cloaked in tattered, obsidian robes. Its hood obscured its face entirely save for two burning, crimson lights deep within the shadows. In its skeletal hands, it clutched an enormous scythe, its blade sharp enough to cut through not just flesh, but the very souls of the living. The Grim Reaper Thanatos hovered silently, exuding an aura of doom that seemed to drain the warmth from the air. Momon felt a surge of satisfaction at the ominous creature standing before him, its scythe glinting in the dim light like a silent promise of death.

"Your orders, my lord?" it intoned its voice a haunting whisper that seemed to seep into the bones.

"Patience, Thanatos," Momon replied. "I am not done yet."

He extended his hands again, the power rippling around him like a storm. "[Create High-Tier Undead - Overlord General]!"

A brilliant flash of silver filled the air, and a new figure materialized—a massive, skeletal warrior clad in gleaming silver armor. Twin dragon heads carved into its pauldrons glared with fierce red eyes, and a black cape billowed ominously behind it. The Overlord General radiated an aura of command, his mere presence instilling a chilling confidence in the ranks of the undead that surrounded him. This creature was the embodiment of military prowess, born to rally armies and lead them with unyielding loyalty.

The Overlord General bowed low. "I stand ready to lead your forces, my lord."

"Excellent," said Momon, his skeletal grin widening. "One more…"

Drawing upon the deepest well of his power, Momon called forth his final summon. "[Create High-Tier Undead - Death Emperor]!"

The earth itself seemed to recoil as the Death Emperor emerged from a vortex of shadows. Standing taller than any of the other summoned creatures, it was encased in terrifying black armor, with skeletal limbs that seemed sculpted from shadows and death itself. This creature radiated raw destructive energy, and its hollow eyes burned with a relentless thirst for annihilation. Its mere presence felt like a harbinger of ruin, as if even standing near it would bring decay and death.

The Death Emperor took a step forward, the ground beneath it withering and cracking. "I am here, my liege, to bring absolute ruin."

Momon regarded his terrifying creations with a satisfied nod. Each of these powerful beings would be invaluable in his plans to maintain control over his domains and eradicate any who dared challenge him.

"Thanatos, Overlord General, Death Emperor—" Momon declared. "You will defend my lands and serve as my hands of retribution."

"By your command," they replied in unison, their voices a chilling chorus that reverberated through the empty, frostbitten air.

Momon allowed himself a moment of pride as he looked upon his newly assembled legion of high-tier undead. These were no mere minions; they were elite instruments of his will, the ultimate enforcers of his authority. With these three at his side, Teyvat would come to know true power—and fear.

Momon's dark energy filled the snowy air, weaving through the remains of the Fatui soldiers as he summoned his next wave of minions. The corpses began to contort and shift, taking on the chilling forms of middle-tier undead warriors, each creature summoned with a distinct, fearsome purpose.

The first group were Death Knights, towering figures clad in decayed but powerful armor, wielding bloodstained swords and cursed shields. Their eyes glowed an eerie crimson, each step they took leaving a faint trail of deathly energy. The Overlord General gestured for them to fall in line behind him, and they did so in disciplined silence, their stoic presence adding a grim weight to the snowy landscape.

Next came the Terror Warriors, spectral fighters cloaked in shadowy auras that seemed to consume the light around them. They wielded jagged axes and dark lances, their movements unnervingly swift and silent. Thanatos pointed his scythe at them, his hollow gaze directing them to join his ranks. The Terror Warriors assembled around him, their spectral forms blending with his own in a haunting display.

Finally, the Graveyard Guards rose from the ground, their bodies twisted and hunched, wrapped in dark armor adorned with spikes and rusted chains. These undead wielded heavy maces and reinforced shields, perfect for defense and control. The Death Emperor commanded them to form a perimeter around him, each Graveyard Guard letting out a low, rumbling growl in acknowledgment.

Momon inspected his new forces, impressed by their terrifying array of abilities. Each of the high-tier undead now had their own squad of five middle-tier minions, enhancing their individual strength with formations that suited their unique fighting styles.

"You three come with me." commanded Momon.

Momon led the three undead lords into the cold, dimly lit tent. The flickering light cast shadows across their towering figures, creating an eerie atmosphere that suited the grim task at hand. He removed his mask, revealing the hollow sockets of his skeletal face, and sat down, his presence commanding and regal. The undead lords remained silent and watchful as he spread out the map he'd acquired from the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, each undead seemingly hanging on every move he made.

Sliding the enchanted glasses onto his bony face, Momon began to read the map's details, the arcane lens translating ancient Mondstadtian script into his language he could understand. His finger traced the rugged terrain lines and strategic points, and he lifted his head, addressing his servants.

"This," he said, tapping the paper with a gloved finger, "is Dragonspine. We are situated here, within Wyrmrest Valley, near the river." He glanced at the faint sound of water rushing outside, the river's exact location mirroring the map's details. "It is treacherous, frigid, and nearly untouched. The perfect terrain for us to establish our foothold."

The three undead remained motionless, taking in his words with silent reverence. Momon's finger moved across the map, sweeping over the location northwest of their current position. "This territory here," he continued, pointing, "is Stormterror's Lair, or as some call it, the Old Mondstadt. Death Emperor, I will station you there. Claim it in my name and ensure that it becomes a place where the living dare not tread."

Death Emperor stepped forward, lowering his horned helmeted head in solemn acknowledgment. "I understand, Supreme One. I shall turn Stormterror's Lair into a fortress of dread. None shall trespass and live to tell the tale."

Satisfied, Momon nodded and turned to Thanatos, the Grim Reaper. "Thanatos, you will remain here in Dragonspine. Scour these mountains thoroughly. Leave no corner unchecked. I want you to unearth its secrets and bring every inch under our control."

The Grim Reaper lifted his hooded head, his skeletal face partially obscured in shadow, yet his red eyes glowed with a chilling intensity. "Your will is my command, my lord," he rasped, his voice like frost on metal. "I will sweep through Dragonspine until all who dwell here either bow to your power or perish."

Momon's gaze shifted to the last of his generals, the Overlord General. He paused, regarding him thoughtfully before speaking. "And you, henceforth, shall be known as Titus. Your post will be the Guyun Stone Forest. It will be under your command. Root out every trace of trespassers, every whisper of resistance."

The Overlord General—now Titus—bowed his head low. His silver armor gleamed in the dim light, the dragon-shaped pauldrons reflecting a fierce authority. "It shall be as you command, Supreme One. I will make the Guyun Stone Forest a monument to your might, a realm that only the dead may freely tread."

Momon turned his gaze to the sprawled body of the slain Fatui soldier nearby, his expression sharpening. "Now listen carefully," he continued, his voice cold and commanding. "These soldiers, known as the Fatui, are to be annihilated on sight if any more of them are lurking here. However, do not mistake them for adventurers or researchers—they are a dangerous faction that has no business on my lands."

Each of the undead lords turned their gaze to the body, committing every detail of the Fatui's uniform to memory—the stark black and red attire, the emblem, the specific armor features. Thanatos tilted his head slightly, inspecting the body with a detached curiosity, while Titus leaned closer, noting the insignias and unique weaponry that marked the Fatui as soldiers.

"We will not confuse the invaders," rasped Thanatos, his voice like an oath sworn to the very ground beneath them. The Death Emperor and Titus each nodded, acknowledging the decree with grave finality.

Momon watched them, pleased. "Good. You all have your orders. These territories are now ours. Make them strongholds where even the most foolhardy fear to tread."

Thanatos, Death Emperor, and Titus straightened, bowing deeply with hands crossed over their chests in loyalty.

Outside the tent, Momon's gaze shifted to a peculiar scene—his Undead Berserker standing beside a cage, repeatedly kicking it with a heavy iron boot. Each impact rattled the cage and the occupant within—a hilichurl—shrieked in frustration, lunging at the bars with an almost animalistic fury.

"What are you doing, Berserker?" Momon demanded, his voice cutting through the chill air.

The Berserker paused, turning to his master. "This annoying goblin-like creature keeps growling at me, my Lord," he growled in frustration, his hollow eyes fixed on the trembling hilichurl.

Momon sighed, gesturing dismissively. "Then bring the damn thing here, Berserker."

"Yes, my Lord!" With brutish strength, the Berserker tore open the cage as if it were paper, ignoring the hilichurl's frantic scratching. He gripped it by the back of the neck, hauling the flailing creature into the tent with a brutal efficiency.

Inside, Momon studied the struggling hilichurl with an unsettling calm, his skeletal gaze unwavering. He reached forward and pulled off its wooden mask, revealing a twisted, malformed face beneath. The hilichurl, suddenly vulnerable, snarled and spat a harsh, garbled string of sounds in a strange language, twisting in a futile attempt to break free from the Berserker's grasp.

"Calm yourself," Momon commanded, though he could see the creature was far from cooperative. He inspected the mask closely, turning it over in his hands, noticing that the hilichurl seemed even more desperate without it, almost as if it were a sacred possession. But there was something else—an unnatural, unsettling feeling emanating from the creature. He narrowed his eyes, sensing a hidden magic behind its rage.

Momon lifted a hand, casting a spell. "[Detect," he murmured, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. A soft glow emerged from his palm, illuminating the hilichurl with an ethereal light. In that moment, Momon's expression shifted. "So," he muttered, "you're under a curse… and not just any curse. An immortal one."

The undead lords around him shifted with a sense of unease, drawn in by their master's discovery. Momon's skeletal fingers curled as he prepared his next spell. "Boys," he addressed the undead around him, "I think we're about to uncover a disturbing truth." He stretched his hand toward the struggling hilichurl. "[Remove Curse," he intoned, his voice echoing with power.

The spell took hold immediately. The hilichurl began to convulse, its dark, leathery skin seeming to blister and peel, flaking away like ash. Shadows writhed and lifted from its form, coalescing into a dark purple wisp of light that hovered in Momon's palm, pulsing with a sinister energy. The hilichurl fell still, the energy dimming as it left the creature's body. With a single wave of his hand, Momon purged the cursed essence, watching as it dissolved, its residue dissipating like a faintly glowing mist.

What was left was no longer a hilichurl. Instead, before them lay the emaciated, decayed body of a human—a rotting, pitiful corpse, with sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks, a shadow of whatever life it once held. Momon's skeletal gaze lingered on the corpse, his mind churning with questions and intrigue.

"So… hilichurls are cursed humans," he murmured, piecing the evidence together, his voice low with realization. "How interesting…"

The undead around him shifted, absorbing the revelation with a chilling silence. Momon's thoughts raced as he surveyed the body. It was tragic, grotesque, and fascinating all at once. The transformation of humans into these so-called monsters was far darker than he had anticipated. And now that he knew, this knowledge only served to deepen his intrigue, hinting at layers of mystery within Teyvat.

"I wonder what the gods have to say about this."