Failing to land the killing blow didn't rattle Idris. He was already mapping the next move.
"Just now, Marana's eye ducked into its own body to protect itself. So I need to make that protection flimsy, too. The best counter is to crack it from the inside. It won't be stupid—if I charge into its body it'll get wary—so I'll have to put on a little show first."
Decision made, he grinned. Fine—today I'll play the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven and snatch profit from risk.
He sprang forward, riding his vine-lashed "steps" that unspooled through the air like a Somersault Cloud.
Marana's avatar—its wound still weeping deathly flame—seethed. The forest of thorns along its body detonated outward, a storm of stabbing vines blanketing Idris. It had learned what mattered: the Prime Machine God, the city—none of that was as dangerous as this single man. It all but ignored the mech and the black clone, pouring everything into strangling Idris.
He "panicked," pressured back toward that abyssal maw. The colossus yawed its jaw wide and the vacuum hit—an irresistible drag even as thorns slashed in from every angle. Idris seemed to try and flee, but he still couldn't fly on his own; his freedom in the air came from those vines, not real wings. And vines weren't a true cloud—they couldn't tear him free of that pull.
His silhouette slid past the fangs.
At the last instant, his mouth tilted into a smile. Holy gold flashed over his skin—and he vanished down Marana's throat.
"Idris!"
"Grand Sage!"
Cries of shock rippled over Sumeru. Faces blanched; breath hitched. Many felt their composure shatter. In more than a few eyes—Nilu's among them—tears brightened, the kind that come with a heart dropping out of the sky.
Ying's pulse spiked. Don't die. Not like this. I haven't even cleared the air about my misunderstanding—haven't said I'm sorry. If you die now, I'll carry it forever…
Even Cyno's face darkened—he was a heartbeat from ordering "All forces, fight to the death and avenge the Grand Sage!"—when a calm voice slid into every Void Terminal.
"Don't panic," Nahida said. "I can tell you Idris hasn't fallen. The Prime Machine God—and both clones—are all driven by his will. I am the Little Lucky Grass King of Sumeru. I'm monitoring him constantly. I won't let him come to harm."
Her reassurance bled the terror out of the city. People exhaled as one. The monster horde was nearly spent at the gates; if time held, the moment they mopped up, Sumeru's fighters would storm out and pry their Grand Sage free.
High on the boughs, Zhongli murmured, "His prestige here is… unparalleled. The instant he was swallowed, I felt nine-tenths of Sumeru's hearts sag." He paused. That weight of awe—he knew it. He'd only ever sensed it around himself in Liyue.
Truly, a fearsome youth. If only Idris had been born in Liyue… once the Geo Lord retired, even a kingship wouldn't have been unthinkable.
But he also understood: it was precisely because Idris stood in Sumeru that his brilliance could blaze like this. Had he been a Qixing in Liyue, he'd said it himself—he would've slacked whenever he could.
"Old man, getting ideas?" Venti teased, catching the regret in Zhongli's eyes.
"I am," Zhongli admitted. "He suits Liyue's palate perfectly. But here, he shines brighter than he would with us."
"Not necessarily," Venti sing-songed. "There's another way to bind nations besides treaties—marriage. If you want a Liyue–Sumeru bond, how about a political match?"
"Hm. There's sense in that, old drunkard," Zhongli allowed.
Nahida chuckled. "Good luck. That man is wood. Girls send him love letters—he can't even be bothered to reply. As his 'elder,' it's driving me crazy."
Venti waved it off. "No hurry. He's talking about becoming a king, right? Kings tend to accumulate a palace or at least a queen. He'll think about it when he must." Zhongli couldn't help a crooked smile.
If Idris had heard them, he'd have cursed the three of them for planting death flags while he was bleeding for their entertainment. Also, minor detail: none of the three were technically human.
Down at the gates, the last scraps of the monster tide were being cut down. It had cost Sumeru dearly—Eremites, mercenaries, the Corps of Thirty, the Matra—nearly all were wounded. Only a handful of Vision holders and Ying still carried strong combat power. They hacked faster, glancing to the distant titan; as soon as this was done, they meant to rush the main battlefield.
Outside, Marana's husk looked ravaged—deathflame burns, thunder-charred plates—but from its perspective, it had accomplished the key task: swallow the threat.
Inside Marana—
Sheathed in his Holy Shield, Idris was fine. Without it, he'd already be gone; there was no stomach acid here, but the Withering energy saturating the cavity was the world's strongest solvent. The creature clearly meant to dissolve him in it.
He checked the clock in his head. One hour of inviolability.
Plenty of time to tear the place apart.
"The eye should be straight above," he judged, looking up into the pulsing gloom. "They've certainly been waiting long enough outside. Time to finish this."
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