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m1d-45 · 5 days

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a temple to the seas

summary: as dottore's assistant, you run into a variety of creatures. however, this one seems a little too human for your taste...

word count: ~3.4k

-> warnings: major dehumanizing language and behavior (towards character, temporarily by reader), minor mention of a (presumed to be) dead body, mentions + minor depiction of blood, titles of two harbingers not shown in game (written pre-natlan), some sort of weird power dynamic going on but neither of them are winning

-> gn reader (you/yours)

tag list: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

dottore worked with a myriad of strange and wondrous creatures, both with and without natural origin. on the tamer side of things, you’ve been called in to inspect slimes with weak or nonexistent elemental charge, a crystalfly with six wings, and a strangely docile lawachurl. on the other end, you had to tear apart ancient ruin machinery, pistons firing to grind moss-covered gears against each other. you’ve even fixed up your fair share of segments, one of the few entrusted with their delicate circuitry. hubristically, you thought you’d seen it all, because what could surprise you more than the blue heart of an abyss lector placed in your hands?

you flash your keycard in front of the reader beside a thick steel door, the hallway light creeping along the floor as it slides open. the room is dark, with a large cloth covering the back half. it’s roughly taped up, with dark… mystery liquid bleeding out from the bottom. it’s surprisingly empty, with neither person nor furniture to keep you company. you’re left with a covered cart, the tools strapped to your sides, and the paper in your hands. your target is behind the curtain, it seems.

you don’t think too hard about it, instead pulling the cloth off the cart and messily pushing it through the handle on one side to keep it off the floor. the door shuts and plunges the room into darkness, so you take a small penlight from your pocket and tuck it behind your ear, reading the paper on the board.

you’re to study a specimen from the sea, strangely. the doctor usually kept his study to terrestrial creatures, an observation already noted on the page. a fishing party had reported something strange in the water, which had only turned into a concern once it had attacked one of the fatui’s ships. commoners were able to sail through the area fine, even in small fishing dinghies, but it chose to specifically attack the ship sent for negotiations with mondstadt. il capitano had expended several dozen squads retrieving both the mora lost and the beast itself, which was wounded by the ship’s anchor and made for a fierce capture, blah blah blah. you couldn’t care less about the details. instead, you skip to your short list of duties at the bottom: repair the enclosure, determine the intelligence of whatever you’ve caught, and establish a line of communication if sufficiently advanced.

you’re not sure why they think you’ll be able to talk with whatever’s in there, but that’s a problem for later. you take stock of what you were left, searching in the thin beam of your penlight and squinting through the light reflected off the steel cart. the lights haven’t turned on yet, so they must have either been manually set to off or damaged when the subject was brought in. not including your pen, the only light is from the card reader behind you and what slips through between the cloth and the walls, both a pale blue that do little to illuminate the room at large. you give up on the cart and scan the walls for the light switch, finding it closer to the door than normal. thankfully, it was just set to off, but the lights flicker when you turn them on. you click off your penlight, looking up at them oddly. why would they be flickering?

having apparently given its answer to your unspoken question, the cloth trembles with a dull thud. the liquid at the bottom spreads out a bit further, looking clear now that the lights are on. your instinct says it’s water, but it could just as easily be alcohol or gasoline. the cloth itself is already dark, so it’s hard to tell how much of it is soaked.

then again, it is a supposed sea monster, right? it makes sense that it would be held in a tank, but the water spilling doesn’t reflect the loudness of the thud. if it had rammed the glass, then the water splashing over would have been visible as it hit the cloth. on the other hand, you were told to repair the enclosure, so-

another thud, louder, the water spreading out in another surge. you quickly discard your train of thought, tucking away your pen and checking over the cart with much more ease. there’s a first-aid kit, silicone sealant, and a roll of thick, clear tape that you grab. it’s a temporary fix, but you need to get a grasp on the situation before you can decide on a proper course of action. you push the tape into the large pocket of your lab coat, freeing both of your hands to grab the cloth over the mystery tank. you pull, quickly yanking it off and letting it drop. it doesn’t feel soaked yet, so it can hopefully absorb some of the water on the floor.

the tank itself is… boring. the water is murky, a tumultuous mess of air bubbles and thick black strings of something. chains? no, then it wouldn’t have been able to hit the glass. you wouldn’t be surprised if it had broken the chains, however, as the cracks spiderwebbed through the glass are alarmingly thick. you unspool some of the tape, sticking strips over the sections where the cracks intersect. water still drips through, but at a far slower pace. it’ll do for now.

as you patch up the glass, the water slowly begins to settle. sediment falls to the bottom, and you can’t tell if the shine is natural or because it’s reflecting the light streaming through from the ceiling. the tank is still dark, though, a deep fog covering the back half. there should be lights all the way to the far wall, so they’re likely damaged.

as if it heard your thoughts—were you superstitious, you’d be worried by now—one of the lights on the near side breaks with a shatter, glass and sparks falling into the tank below. you step away, moving well out of range of the puddle on the floor despite the minuscule charge. the other light breaks in a similar fashion, though this time you catch something small and dark being flung at it. you bring out your penlight again, crouching beside the glass to catch a glimpse of whatever it is. you’re expecting a link of the chain-like structure you saw before, maybe a rock or shell, so of course it’s none of those things. there, at the bottom of the tank, is a single coin of mora. it shines as innocently as the glass slowly sinking around it, oblivious to the gears turning in your mind.

you can’t believe that a sea creature would have want for terrestrial money, but you can believe that it’s attracted to the glimmer. it’s smart enough to use one of the smaller coins, though you’re not sure if that’s to make it harder to see as it flies or if it knows its value. you don’t hold your breath about it. if squid can open jars and slimes can plan ambushes for their prey, you don’t expect anything impressive from whatever this thing is.

the glass and mora are still there, so it didn’t care about either enough to actually grab it. it’s either waiting for you to back off, dislikes the light, or both. you stand, making your way back to the cart. you trade your tape for the proper sealant, scribbling a small note about your findings on the second, blank page on the clipboard. you reread the original file, this time catching that a non-insignificant amount of mora was missing from the wreckage. it was packed in sealed bags, so it wasn’t as if it was carried away by the tide. your mystery friend was in possession of ten thousand mora, give or take, a fact you tuck away for later. there’s plenty of scrap metal to be found around the lab, which can potentially be used as bribes if your theory proves correct.

the tank thuds again, and you turn quickly. you’re only able to catch a glimpse of black retreating into the fog, though, the flash of scales a microscopic indication of what you’re dealing with. plenty of sea creatures have scales, though this eliminates most of the ones with tentacles. scales, with enough force to crack the glass of its tank. what are the chances it’s just a particularly aggressive shark?

none, of course—capitano’s squadron’s could likely take down a shark one-handed and half-blind—but it’s fun to play pretend.

you approach the tank, pulling the tape from the bigger leaks and put it over the thinner cracks instead. silicone is scraped over the main breaks, the excess smeared to the edge of the tape. you peer into the tank as best as you can, but it’s too dark to see anything. even with the broken lighting, what does get through isn’t diffusing naturally. the darkness seems to swirl, collecting the dirt off the floor-…

the mora’s gone. so is the glass. you stare at the place they used to be, briefly lost in the sight of the concrete flooring. you hadn’t noticed any movement, so it was either masked by fog or a sufficiently slow creep. both? the ‘mist’ inside seems to ripple and flutter with invisible currents, never parting to let anything through.

another coin of mora shoots through the veil, hitting a weak spot dead-on and pushing the cracks higher through the glass. you’re starting to suspect the thing can read your thoughts… or it can just use whatever brain is left to know that you’re watching. what’s gotten into you?

you shake it off, pushing sealant into the new fracture. some of them spread too high for you to reach without a stool, though they’re fairly thin. you’ve been pretty lucky, not having to put yourself in a vulnerable position yet—unless, if you step back, it was intentional? you’re only halfway across the tank, but you take a break to do just that, actually taking in the patterns of the rifts instead of logging them as another problem to be solved.

the room is fairly tall, though the tank doesn’t stretch all the way to the top. you can only reach about three quarters of the way to the top of the glass, and there’s a sizable space of air above the tank. instead of focusing at the top and trying to widen that opening, the damage is nearly entirely in the bottom third. everything that reaches higher are hairline, not intended to spread that high. whatever it is, it wants to flood the room, enough that it’s prioritizing that over escape.

definitely smarter than a squid.

you approach your cart to make note of your realization, using your penlight to write. you angle yourself so you can barely see the tank out of the corner of your eye, sketching a rough diagram of the room and marking where the major breaks are. like last time, the water begins to twist, the mist receding from the glass. you draw random shapes on the side of your paper to stall, interspersed with writing-like loops in case it’s somehow able to understand the difference. the sides of the mist curl in, forming a bubble in the middle. it swells, rushing forward, and you quickly flick on your light and point it toward the tank.

your light is weak, obviously. it’s a pen, a focused beam meant to fit in tight spaces and illuminate them efficiently. it’s dispersed somewhat by the distance, glass, and water, but you know what you see no matter how unclear. a large, glittering tail lashes forward, wrapped in heavy gray chain and dense fog. it’s yanked back as quick as it came, but you’re no fool. the weight of the ship’s anchor hitting the glass makes another low thud, barely-there crackles heralding new fissures. it was softer this time, likely thrown off from your light.

smart enough to use tools. scaled. deep-dwelling, or otherwise nocturnal. you don’t know much about the sea, but that doesn’t seem to add up into anything remotely normal. sea lions don’t have scales, neither do dolphins, whales, or squid, and none of fontaine’s aberrants could survive either the cold or the salt. snowstriders are large, but they’re naturally a bright white. whatever you have, it’s an anomaly.

you shouldn’t be so surprised. since when did the doctor deal in the mundane?

you leave the rest of the tank’s cracks as is, instead picking through the lower level of the cart. there’s a small slate and marker, a larger light, some gloves, and a bunch of other stuff you don’t bother with. you tuck the slate under your arm and put the marker with your pen, pulling off the large light and a battery pack. it’s heavy, but you manage. the water agitates when you set it by the tank, as close as you can without risking water damage. it should be water resistant, but you’re not about to test that theory and get yourself in trouble.

the thing must have an idea of what you’re doing. it also must not be native to too deep waters, or else it’d be blind. but if it was in the shallows, how did it manage to grow so large without ever being seen?

you insert the battery, hovering your hand over the knob. there’s no telling if it’ll get aggressive in the light, so you prime yourself to run just in case. you look up into the dark fog of the tank, twisting the light to full power.

your first, horrific thought is that it’s somehow brought a corpse into the lab. sure, the fatui aren’t exactly known for their top care of fallen soldiers, but surely it would have been separated from one before being put in its tank. the body is half-hidden behind a mass of scales, a deep violet that shines despite the fog—which itself isn’t fog. you’re not sure how or why, but it’s shifted from black to brown, clearly just dirt constantly kept in motion. your light cuts through it easily as it begins to settle, the tail shifting to hide the body. you can’t see a head yet, is it an eel of some kind?

and then you understand. the body’s shoulder moves, led by a black hand. dark ink stretches up their forearm like an infection, leaving behind claws instead of nails. it reaches down, behind the wrap of scales, and flicks another coin at the glass with far too much strength to be puppetted.

that’s its body*.* you physically recoil from the realization, hand tightening on the light and dimming it a little more in the process. black scales shine purple as it approaches, ripped and jagged fins twitching and sweeping the dirt away from impossibly far off. still likely an elemental, you think dully, watching as it approaches. another coin of mora flashes between two long claws and flicks towards you quick enough to leave a small trail of vacuum bubbles behind it. it hits the glass with a sharp click, right over the light.

you know what it wants. you’re still reeling from the idea that something can look so human when deep beneath the sea, struggling to fit its silhouette together in your mind, but you can still think properly. the dirt continues to sink, revealing more paper-thin fins shredded by the anchor’s chain. the floor is marred from thousands of claw marks, though you can’t see the full extent of the damage. its curled up over the well, wrapped tightly in its tail. all you can see are purple scales and lavender fins, waving gently in the water. if you’d seen a picture of it like this, you’d only assume it was a strangely large eel that had been unlucky enough to wander into the wrong side of a harbor.

but you knew better. the scales shift and a dark claw sticks out, another mora flung towards you. it hits with more force than last time.

you don’t know what to do. it’s hurt, obviously; dark blood seeps from between every scale, whether because of the anchor or the torn fins or something else you can’t see. you’re surprised it was able to whip the anchor as fast as it did. with how dark and blurry everything is, you can’t help but wonder if blood was a substantial part of the mist you saw before. not many morals last long under the doctor’s instruction, but you don’t like seeing it recoil from the light. maybe it’s another hallucination, maybe it’s pulling on your neurons to make you do what it wants, but the end result is the same.

against your better judgement, you lower the light just slightly, keeping your hand on it in case things turn south. the monster’s tail slowly unwinds, revealing more of the body within. their skin is bluish, with dark streaks across the ribs. you watch in a daze as it crawls forward, finally coming face to face with the monster in the tank.

it looks painfully human. bright yellow eyes, the same color as the mora it not-so-discreetly swipes off the floor, surrounded by a cloud of black hair. you could almost fool yourself into thinking its a free diver, a particularly foolish one who left his wetsuit on the shore and was slowly succumbing to hypothermia. blackish gills flutter along his neck and ribs, your hand unthinkingly turning off the light when its scales press against the glass. he seems perfectly human from the waist up.

and then it hisses at you. his lips pull back over layers of shark-like fangs, your hand alarmingly twisting forward instead of back with the rest of your body. the knob clicks under your fingers, the light entirely turning off, and the thing has the gall to look proud.

right. dangerous sea-thing that risked its life to try and flood the lab. you’re usually better under pressure than this, but to be fair you usually don’t deal with subjects that can maybe-probably read your mind.

you pull yourself together, pulling the cap off your marker and writing a simple question across the slate in your neatest handwriting. your hand is strangely shaky. when you’re done, you turn it towards the glass.

‘can you read common?’

his eyes flick first to the slate, and then to yours, his hair shifting in an invisible current. it parts enough that you can see his ears have elongated into spiny ruffs, each flared out wide. you don’t know what that means. you go to write as such on the board, and a sharp click draws your attention. he waves at the slate, then nods.

what was his previous reaction, then? if he understood that nodding was an agreement, then why not do that to begin with? if you mapped the movement of his ears onto another animal, would it be a stretch to interpret it as annoyance? could he be offended you thought he couldn’t read?

another coin shoots toward your face, the click startling you out of your thoughts. you blink, and he waves to your board again, with more emphasis. was he used to this style of questioning, then? you’ll have to ask the segment who was in charge of him prior about what they did.

‘what’s 2 + 2?’

how many times have you been shot at since you’ve come in here? you should start a tally.

you continue with basic questions, slowly increasing their difficulty. he looks almost bored through all of them, laying over his tail. you can never see further than his waist, irritatingly, and he keeps summoning more mist when you aren’t looking to further fog the transition. you’re tempted to go get your clipboard, but figure that’ll break whatever rapport you’ve built up. he’s not aggressive anymore, so you’ll settle for sneaking glances at the patterns of his fins.

‘do you know the name snezhnaya?’

he’s rather fond of giving you looks you’d dare to call condescending, your only answer coming in irritated ruffles of his spines until he gets tired of waiting and nods again. you somewhat wish you could give him a slate to write on himself, but he could easily break it into dangerous shards. not that it would matter much, considering his claws…

he clicks two fingers together in an unmistakable snap, and though the snap is lost in the water you know you’ve been caught. you quickly write down some random question about the capital to distract him, but it doesn’t work. his teeth flash in the light, though it seems to be more of a smile than a jeer. his shoulders bob, unnatural fangs gleam beneath a sharp cupid’s bow, and you’re not sure when he stopped being an eel and started becoming a person.

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