As The Sun Gazes Upon The Moon [Zhongchili]

Chapter 27 - Into the Abyss

One by one, those in non-human forms shift into them and then, utilising a geo platform that Zhongli fashions, the group files into the portal.

Tartaglia goes first with a grin and a salute, the rest following behind, and soon the group stands in a domed chamber, fragmented with the legacy of an ancient civilisation. An amputated chunk of stairwell floats close to the ceiling, fractured slices of wall surround them in a mockery of shelter, and a dusty set of books lies scattered on the ground beside the moulded remains of a bookshelf.

Speaking not a word of their plan as instructed, the adepti split into their assigned groups then nod each other a silent farewell, with Xiao's group setting off down the passageway to their right while Tartaglia's group heads to the left.

The passageway is narrow and damp, lit by balls of elemental energy they each hold between their palms, and a liquid that is decidedly not water drips from stalactites to form dark puddles on the ground. At each fork in the path, Tartaglia makes a wordless decision and the group follows without protest, Zhongli leaving behind tiny geo formations to mark their way back.

After five such turnings, they emerge in a chamber similar to the one in which they arrived. However, instead of books, a large stone table sits in the centre, the mummified remains of the final inhabitant's last meal set on chipped plates at each place.

"Anyone hungry?" jests Tartaglia, pulling his hood down and looking back at the group, and Cloud Retainer shoots him an amused look.

"Such a meal would find itself severely outclassed should it be entered in the Extreme Cuisine Cookoff Supreme." She clicks her tongue. "One declares the superior chefs to be present within this group."

"Right you are!" Tartaglia winks then presses a finger to his lips, gesturing for them to follow inside. His expression is wary as he takes in their surroundings, focusing on one object then the next, evaluating every disintegrated fragment of civilization they pass. He's beautiful to watch like this, a beacon of command and authority, and Zhongli struggles to tear his gaze away.

He allows himself a few seconds of indulgence then reluctantly does, compelled by the need to make his own observations of the chamber they have come to. These formations are old—Khaenri'an architecture interspersed with that of civilisations even more ancient—yet Tartaglia takes it in stride, walking purposefully toward the tunnel leading off from the opposite side of the chamber.

The group follows, but as they approach the tunnel, all but Tartaglia slow, exchanging nervous glances. A purple ooze coats the tunnel walls—bubbling, popping, alive—and Zhongli breaks his silence to call ahead, "Wait."

Tartaglia stops, frowns, and tilts his head toward the exit before resuming along the path. "It's this way."

While it is appreciable to see confidence in their leader, this raises one further question that Zhongli dares not voice: What is that way?

He, Ping and Cloud Retainer follow Tartaglia into the tunnel, picking their way across the rare ooze-free patches of ground, while Tartaglia appears to face no such issue, dancing from stone to stone, making a gleeful sound with each hop. It's a peculiar attitude, considering their circumstances, and Zhongli presses forward to catch up with him

"Tartaglia, are you feeling well?" he asks when they're parallel to each other.

Tartaglia laughs. "Well? Of course I'm well! Never better!" He spares Zhongli a brief glance, and although his pupils carry a maniacal glint, the irises appear the dullest Zhongli has ever seen them. "Hurry up. And stop talking, remember?"

With a sigh, Zhongli falls back in line. Tartaglia is right—they should be discussing as little as possible, particularly topics which the Abyss might be able to manipulate to their own purposes.