Chapter Text
They didn't linger inside the suffocating gloom of the power plant a second longer than they had to. Retracing their steps, they hurried back toward the decontamination chamber, passing the frozen, statue-like Fatui soldier standing rigid in the dark.
"Don't worry," Venti murmured softly, pausing just a fraction of a second as they brushed past the trapped man. "We'll find a way to free you soon."
Reaching the exit, Venti pressed the button on the inner control panel, causing the automated doors to slide open and hiss as they opened. A split second later, they burst out through the decontamination airlock and back into the brutal, freezing expanse of the Greenland wasteland. The arctic wind shrieked around them, instantly biting at the open air, but thanks to the swirling, invisible current of Anemo magic Venti had wrapped around Oliver, the worst of the sub-zero chill was kept at bay.
Venti stepped out into the blinding white, his bard shoes crunching lightly over the thick powder. He spun around, hands resting on his hips. "Now, where do you suppose that main building is hiding?"
Oliver looked left and right, greeted only by a swirling wall of whiteout snow. "Does it even snow this much in Greenland?" the human grumbled, "I mean, I know the country is covered in white... but still."
Venti crossed his arms, his gaze scanning the swirling storm. "Well, judging by what I've seen that mortal known as Doctor Barclay pull off, I wouldn't put it past him to somehow manipulate the local weather."
Oliver's eyebrows shot up. Given everything else they had witnessed, that was entirely within the realm of possibility.
"It would be nearly impossible for a mortal from my realm to accomplish something like that," Venti mused aloud, tapping a finger against his chin. "But this one from your world seems capable of the most bizarre things. Frankly, I'm still surprised my Bolt of Judgment even worked on him at all."
Oliver leaned back against the metal wall of the power plant near the jagged, blown-out doorway. "Mark mentioned something about that fictional leak thinh earlier. Ugh." He groaned, rubbing his temples. "It is still so much to process."
Krr-zz-kk.
Oliver jumped as the radio clipped to his belt crackled to life. He quickly fished it out of his pocket and pressed the button. "Hello? Mark?"
"Hello! Just checking in," Mark's steady voice cut through the static. "You two doing okay out there?"
Before Oliver could reply, the radio clicked off. He pressed the button down again. "Yeah, we're fine. We're not in the power plant anymore. We just made it back outside into the snow." He let go of the button.
A brief moment of static later, Mark's voice returned, sounding slightly bewildered. "Outside? You've already shut down the power?" A pause. "Hm. You don't sound very enthusiastic..."
Oliver let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's because we didn't turn it off yet. The control panel gave us an error. It said we have to make changes from Barclay's office to turn it off."
Over the speaker, they heard the rustle of clothing as Mark seemingly pulled away from the receiver. "Claire... they said—" A few muffled words were lost to interference, and then Claire's voice broke through clearly.
"Huh... I wasn't expecting that," she admitted. "As I said, I was never given clearance to enter the power plant, so that wasn't on my mind that you'd need a master terminal from his office to override it."
There was a slight pause on her end before she continued. "You'll need clearance to get into his office, though. I never had it. I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner, but I honestly didn't think you'd need to go in there. Though, I suppose it makes sense now that I think about it..."
Oliver blinked, glancing over at Venti, who simply offered a helpless, shoulder-shrugging smile.
Oliver raised the radio to his mouth and pressed the button. "Great. Clearance again."
"Yes," Claire replied smoothly. "But it's just a standard office door that last time I checked. It's actually made of wood—not cheap wood, mind you, but I've seen what your Venti companion can do with an iron door. Maybe he can just blast it down."
Oliver nodded to himself, clicking the transmitter one last time. "Do you even know where the main building is from here?"
"If you're standing outside the power plant exit, facing away from it, it's straight to your right," Claire instructed. "Just keep walking through the snow and you won't miss it. Remember, turn right."
"Got it. Thanks," Oliver said.
"Be careful you two," Mark chimed in before the line went dead with a sharp click.
Oliver lowered his hand and tucked the radio safely back into his pocket.
"Well," Venti chirped, stepping up close and giving Oliver's shoulder an affectionate nudge. "Ready to brave the cold elements again?"
Oliver nodded, letting out a small breath that plumed into white vapor. "Yeah, let's go. Not gonna lie, I'm actually pretty curious to see what his office looks like and what kind of stuff he kept in there."
Venti smiled, slipping his fingers seamlessly into Oliver's. They turned right, stepping out into the blinding white. Oliver squeezed the bard's hand, feeling a sudden, intense rush of warmth bloom in his chest.
"I'm really glad you're here," Oliver said softly, his voice barely carrying over the wind. "Like... seriously. I was ready to face all of this completely on my own—well, not totally alone, I had August—but getting up and walking up out of that transfer chair for the first time, I was just so ready to face everything without you... which felt so weird because we did so much together,"
Venti's expression softened into something intensely affectionate, his thumb gently stroking the back of Oliver's hand.
"I don't know how I... how any of us... could have managed to get this far," Oliver continued, shaking his head. "If it weren't for you, we'd still be stuck trying to open the door to extraction room three."
Venti let out a light, musical giggle. "Ah, that door was quite sturdy! But I am endlessly happy to be here with you too. It feels wonderful to finally be of genuine help! Now... if only those back in my world who called me a lazy Archon could see me now!" He closed his eyes, beaming with pride as they trudged through the drifts.
Oliver laughed. "Hey, don't let those guys get to you." As they walked, he squinted against the falling snowflakes. "It's still so bizarre that I can casually stroll through a blizzard and feel like I'm sitting in regulated temperature."
"Ehe!" Venti giggled. "That's the glorious power of my Anemo wind keeping you cozy!"
"I know, but the whole situation is surreal," Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. "Cut me some slack, okay? I'm still just a normal guy from a painfully mundane dimension. Even though I've technically been to Teyvat, and survived Silent Hill, Minecraft, SOMA, and whatever else... it's still a lot to wrap my head around."
He knew he was mentally hitting a wall. After hours and hours of relentless chaos, his brain was fried. He was definitely going to need a massive emotional decompression session with Venti later—a full, unfiltered word-vomit of all his built-up stress, preferably in a warm room with zero dimensional anomalies.
Venti glanced sideways, his thoughts lingering on what Oliver had just said. "Well, so far, I have seen absolutely nothing mundane about your dimension!"
Oliver rolled his eyes playfully. "Okay the multiversal dimension-hopping doesn't count as standard worldly activities for me or anyone else here."
"Hehehe!" Venti giggled. "I don't mean that, silly! I'm talking about Doctor Barclay. That glowing purple armor he wore? Absolutely not mundane in the slightest."
Oliver shook his head. "Venti, that wasn't normal attire. I can promise you, you will never walk down a street here and see someone in glowing purple armor." He laughed a little. "Even if you go to New York, in the middle of Times Square, with all those people in costumes, literally none of them will look like that."
"Ehe! New York? A nation in your world, I presume?"
"Well, kinda... not really. America is the 'nation,' but New York is a state." Oliver winced. "You probably don't know what a state is."
"Nope," Venti said, shaking his head. "Is it a city within the nation?"
"Kinda, but..." Oliver couldn't find a way to word it. He gave up.
Venti wasn't easily deterred. "Alright, but what about all this snow? Not mundane to me!" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps it is. It's certainly no Dragonspine. Much less... jagged."
Oliver shrugged. "Greenland's pretty flat, from what I know. If you really want to compare Dragonspine to something on Earth, your best bet is Mount Everest."
"Ooooh? Is it a massive mountain too? Is it close by?" Venti asked eagerly.
Oliver chuckled. "Oh, no. It's not in Greenland. It's in a completely different country, almost the other side of the world. And it's the biggest mountain here."
"Very intriguing!" Venti beamed. "I have so many questions about your world, ehe! But I suppose I should save them for when we're both comfortable. Let's get this mission over with."
Oliver sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Who knows how long that'll take. And once it's all settled, we still have to figure out ourselves. Like, where the hell are we even going to go? August said we'd cross that bridge when we got to it, but the bridge keeps getting closer, and it's not lowering."
They finally came upon a path. A metal path, lined on both sides with what looked like streetlights, running straight through the blizzard toward an enormous building. It was bigger than the power plant, with the same metallic color scheme and multiple stories. The headquarters. The main building of the entire facility. And just like the power plant, it didn't look like a normal building.
"Woah, look at that," Oliver said, pointing at the structure towering over them. "What I don't get is how the people up in the ISS don't see this place. Or any satellite camera. Can they even see it? It's huge! And it's built against pure white, surely someone would notice." He put a hand to his chin. "Do planes even fly over Greenland?"
Venti tapped Oliver's shoulder and strode ahead. "Let's head inside and find that office."
Oliver gulped and trailed behind. "You think we'll run into more people? So far it's only been that one Fatui guy and Funtime Foxy."
Venti giggled as the name finally registered. "Heheheahaha! Funtime, you called it? More like Badtime Foxy. That wasn't a fun moment."
Oliver snorted. "No. No, it wasn't."
~~~~~~
Stepping through the heavy automated doors of the main building, they found themselves standing in a cavernous, dimly lit lobby.
"It's going to take forever just to search this place, isn't it?" Oliver muttered, his eyes darting across the desolate room.
Unlike the pitch-black corridors of the power plant, the lobby had emergency backup lighting pulsing faintly along the walls, making it eerie but navigable. A massive, polished reception desk sat dead ahead, completely abandoned.
"Am I free to damage anything?" Venti asked quietly, standing at Oliver's side. Neither of them had moved from the door.
Oliver blinked, caught off guard. "Damage things? What for?"
Venti looked back at the door they'd just come through. "Well, at least the keycard worked on this one, so I didn't have to blow it off its hinges like the last. Mark warned us not to break anything in the power plant, but we're not in the power plant anymore." He turned back to Oliver. "So, am I free to break things if I need to?"
Oliver nodded, understanding now. "I assume so? We're nowhere near the core, so there's no risk of breaking something important. Are you worried we'll get locked out of somewhere?"
Venti's expression tightened into a subtle scowl. He didn't answer immediately.
Oliver noticed the sudden shift in his boyfriend's demeanor, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He stepped closer, dropping his voice. "Venti? What's wrong?"
"I... I just have a very bad feeling," the bard murmured, his hands dropping to his sides as his bow materialized in a flash of teal light. His eyes darted restlessly across the shadows of the lobby. "I sense a strange energy. An energy that feels far too familiar."
Oliver gently reached out, resting a hand on Venti's arm. "Ven? What are you talking about?"
Venti took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Let's keep moving," he urged, taking a decisive step forward. "If there's one thing I learned from wandering around that cursed Silent Hill place, it's that standing still gets you killed. Come on."
There was a massive hallway branching off to the left of the reception desk, while the right side opened up into a sprawling, wrecked waiting area. Dozens of office chairs were scattered haphazardly across the floor—some standing upright, others flipped completely upside down or smashed to pieces.
"Uh... babe, shouldn't we check the lobby out more thoroughly?" Oliver asked, but Venti was already pressing toward the left hallway, his knuckles whitening around his bow.
Oliver blinked. He took one more glance at the wreckage of chairs, then walked up beside the bard and laced his fingers into Venti's. "Venti, what's the matter? I know you. You're not one to suddenly get this serious and quiet." He paused. "Not unless something is really, really wrong."
Even on edge, Venti still acknowledged him, squeezing back as he looked up. "Ollie, I just sense something, that's all." His gaze slid down the hallway. "And what I feel... is familiar."
Oliver tilted his head. "Familiar?" He looked down, racking his brain. The only thing that came to mind was the Fatui. "The Fatui, maybe? That could be what you're sensing. They're probably all over the main building, to be honest. It could be where Barclay stationed most of them, especially since the main terminal is here, like we learned."
Venti narrowed his eyes. "Come on." He suddenly marched forward, yanking Oliver along with him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Navigating the massive building felt less like walking through an office complex and more like wandering through a shifting, architectural hallucination.
"This is literally a reverse-Tardis situation," Oliver grumbled as they trudged down yet another empty corridor. "From the outside, this place looked the size of an airport terminal. How are we constantly hitting dead ends?"
"Perhaps there are hidden passages?" Venti suggested, scanning the paneled walls.
"Hidden passages? All we've found are identical meeting rooms!" Oliver sighed in frustration. "Venti, we've walked in circles for twenty minutes. I'm pretty sure we just looped right back to the lobby!"
Which was entirely true. No matter which door they tried, or which hallway they took, they inevitably found themselves spat back out into the wreckage of the front waiting area.
Venti crossed his arms, staring down the corridor behind them. "It seems there is some sort of spell cast over the building pt something."
Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just great. Just what we needed. How many annoying magical tricks did this damn scientist have?"
"I still sense something," Venti said softly, turning his head to look back down the hallway they had just traversed.
"You seriously want to retrace our steps again?"
"Every time we loop back around, the sensation grows stronger," the bard insisted. "So yes. But do not worry, my love. I told you I won't let anything touch you."
Oliver let out an exhausted sigh and followed. The hallway lights flickered erratically, casting long, dancing shadows. "I can't wait to get back outside into a normal, freezing blizzard."
"Don't worry, we will," Venti reassured him.
As they rounded a sharp corner they hadn't noticed before, the gloomy corridor finally ended. There were no more doors. There was only an elevator shaft embedded flush against the back wall.
"Ah! See? What did I tell you?" Venti brightened up slightly, though his serious edge didn't entirely vanish. "The energy is practically vibrating right here."
Oliver squinted as he stepped up to the metal doors, watching the indicator light glowing above the frame. "Is the building literally rearranging itself around us? Because I swear that elevator wasn't there a minute ago when he walked all along here. How did we not see that?"
Venti walked right up to the call panel and looked at the button. "This is a lift, right?" He placed his hands on his hips, eyeing the single button. "Hm... rather different from the one at Wangshu Inn."
Oliver glanced down at him, a tired smirk breaking through his stress. "You mean the rickety deathtrap supported entirely by hopes, dreams, and a single wooden plank?"
Venti dropped his tense expression, letting out a bright, airy giggle. "Haha... what? What does that even mean?"
"The elevator that's literally supported by just a plank of wood." Oliver shook his head, and stepped closer to the panel.
"What are you talking about?" Venti snorted.
Oliver rubbed his chin. The up button was broken, so he pressed down. The elevator dinged, and the doors swung open.
"Huh. Seems like it was already here," Oliver said.
The two of them stepped inside together. Oliver looked down at the button panel once he turned around. There weren't multiple floor numbers, nor was there an option to go up—the up arrow was physically smashed in. There was only one solitary button, glowing with a dull, sickly amber light.
Embossed neatly beside the button were the words: Barclay's Storage.
Oliver blinked. "Storage?" His finger hovered uncertainly over the plastic square before he looked over at Venti.
The bard shrugged. "If that's the only button, it's not like we have other options."
"You've got a point." Oliver pressed the button.
A heavy, mechanical clunk echoed through the shaft, and the elevator doors sluggishly groaned as they slid shut, sealing them inside the cramped metal box.
As the doors met in the middle, Oliver's eyes caught a fleeting movement through the closing gap. Standing in the empty hallway just a few yards away was a tall silhouette, silently watching them.
Before he could shout to Venti, the metal doors locked tight with a final, echoing thud.
Oliver's heart hammered against his ribs. He slowly turned his gaze down to Venti.
The bard remained remarkably calm, though his eyes were sharp. He reached out, taking Oliver's trembling hands in his own. "The energy felt intensely concentrated around that figure," Venti said softly. "But I promise you, I will not let them harm us."
With a violent shudder, the elevator cables groaned, and the box began to descend.
Oliver stared down at Venti, wide-eyed. "Venti... what the hell was that?" he stammered, fighting down a wave of panic. "Please tell me that wasn't Nerraw."
"It was not," Venti replied firmly, shaking his head.
Oliver let out a shaky, hyperventilating breath. Part of him was immensely relieved; dealing with Nerraw again after Mark had told them what happened to them, sounded like an absolute nightmare. If the entity was truly unkillable, it meant all their efforts were futile. So hearing Venti rule it out brought a sliver of comfort, but the heavy, suffocating dread in the air hadn't dissipated an inch.
Sensing his boyfriend's spiraling anxiety, Venti dropped Oliver's hands, wrapped his arms securely around Oliver's waist, and pulled him flush against his side.
"I know I seem unsettled, but you are not in danger," Venti whispered soothingly. He rose up onto his tiptoes, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to Oliver's cheek before settling back down. "You're safe with me, okay?"
The kiss worked like magic, immediately slowing Oliver's racing pulse. He leaned his head against Venti's shoulder, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Okay... I guess I'll take your word for it."
Venti beamed, rubbing his cheek affectionately against Oliver. "Remember when we rode that elevator in Fontaine, and you made me have that terribly loud laughing fit?"
Oliver stared blankly at the metal wall of the elevator as his brain furiously rewound through memories. It took a second, but then the recollection hit him like a freight train—an embarrassing, cringeworthy moment from weeks ago when they had first crossed paths. "Ugh... please don't remind me."
"Pffft—hahaha!" Venti snorted, desperately trying to muffle his giggles behind his hand.
Oliver cringed inward, wishing the elevator floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I'm just remembering how utterly awkward I was when I was in the avatar... Oh god, I made such a complete idiot of myself."
"You are still quite silly, you know," Venti teased gently.
Oliver rolled his eyes, staring fixedly at the closed doors.
A few moments later, the downward pull began to ease. The grinding screech of the cables softened, and the elevator gradually lost momentum.
"Oh..." Oliver blinked.
"I suppose we have reached our stop?" Venti murmured.
There was no automated voice announcing the floor, no cheerful chime. Just a heavy, definitive thump as the car locked into place. For a few agonizing seconds, the doors didn't move.
Venti's bow materialized back into his grip in a flash of wind and light.
Oliver instinctively tensed, summoning his heavy diamond sword, the frosty blade casting a pale blue glow inside the tiny car.
With a sudden hiss, the elevator doors finally parted.
A blinding, overwhelmingly harsh wave of yellow light flooded the elevator car, searing directly into their retinas.
"Gah—!" Oliver hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and violently flinching away from the glare. He raised a hand to shield his face, shaking his head. "Ugh, what is that? Are we back in a lab or something?"
He cracked one eye open, waiting for his vision to adjust, but as the details of the room came into focus, his breath hitched. His jaw dropped slack, and his heart felt like it had completely stopped beating.
Venti, completely oblivious to the cultural phenomenon of internet horror, blinked innocently against the glare. He let his bow dematerialize for a moment, stepping right out of the elevator car. His boots crunched softly over a layer of damp, stained yellow carpet.
"My word, what a strangly bright place," Venti looked around at his surroundings. "Are those lights? Huh. Not even the lights in Fontaine are this bright,"
"V-Venti!" Oliver hissed in sheer terror. He was still standing frozen on the threshold between the elevator and the surreal, infinite expanse. He lunged forward, desperately grabbing the back of Venti's cape to yank him backward. "V-Venti, get back in here! Right now!"
Venti didn't budge an inch. He turned his head back, looking utterly perplexed. "You know, a place like this must consume an astronomical amount of power. Is all the facility's diverted energy funneling into this?"
"VENTI!" Oliver screamed, his voice cracking with pure, unfiltered panic.
The bard finally jolted, startled by the sheer volume of his boyfriend's voice. He spun around. "Ollie? What is—what's wrong?" He let out a soft sigh, tilting his head. "Now I'm the one asking what's wrong. Though, I suppose you aren't obligated to tell me, considering I haven't fully explained my own worries either." He slouched his shoulders dramatically, letting his arms dangle at his sides.
"It's not that! It's—!" Oliver suddenly grabbed Venti and pulled him back in. Oliver whipped around, frantically slamming his fist against the elevator's call panel. "Close! Close the damn doors!" But nothing happened. The amber button remained lit, and the doors stayed wide open. "What?! Why won't it close?!" He banged his palm against the metal casing again. "Come on, close!"
Venti stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
"The elevator is broken!" Oliver yelled, abandoning the panel in despair. He looked out from the doorway, taking in the endless, buzzing, monochromatic nightmare stretching out before them. Infinite rooms. Monotonous, mold-smelling wallpaper in varying shades of nauseating mustard yellow. The rhythmic, maddening hum of fluorescent lights overhead....
"Venti... this... I—" He pointed a shaking finger out into the yellow rooms. "Venti, I am not. Going. Into. The. Back. Fucking. ROOMS!" he screamed, aggressively gesturing to the liminal expanse. "I am not even joking right now! Liminal spaces make me genuinely, physically sick. I hate it here!"
Venti stood entirely still, blinking slowly at the meltdown his boyfriend was having.
Oliver opened his mouth to rant further, then abruptly snapped it shut. Right. Venti was an ancient fantasy entity from a medieval-ish anime world. The bard had zero concept of creepypastas, internet lore, or what "The Backrooms" even meant. He probably didn't even know what the phrase "liminal space" implied.
To Venti, it probably just looked like a very aggressively decorated, brightly lit basement storage unit.
Oliver realized he was probably looking like a complete lunatic, but he didn't care. The Backrooms were the undisputed bane of his existence after countless late-night YouTube horror marathons.
Swallowing hard against the rising panic in his throat, Oliver forced himself to take a shaky breath. "As long as... as long as this is just this level ... it shouldn't be too horrific," he rationalized aloud, trying to calm his racing nerves. "And... let's just pray that the stick man thing ain't here..."
Venti offered a reassuring, albeit completely clueless, smile. "Whatever all of those strange words mean, my love... just trust me." He stepped back toward the threshold, reaching out to lace his fingers with Oliver's. "As I've been saying all along: I'll protect you."
~~~~~~
They stepped out of the broken elevator and crept into the sickly yellow corridors, the maddening, high-pitched hum of the overhead fluorescent lights vibrating right through their head. Oliver was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Every tiny creak around them, every rhythmic flick of the lighting made him flinch. It was an entirely different kind of dread. He hadn't felt this suffocating, psychological terror in the dark server rooms, or in the world of SOMA, or even in the world of Silent Hill, or even facing down Nerraw.
"Oh god, I'm so embarrassed," Oliver groaned, covering his face with both hands.
Venti blinked, glancing up at him. "Huh? What for?"
"You don't even know what this place is. All you see is just some blindingly bright, ugly maze, and you literally just watched me about to bust my balls," Oliver grumbled through his fingers.
Venti opened his mouth to offer a reassuring word, but hearing Oliver casually use the phrase 'burst my balls' made the bard lose his composure entirely. A sudden, sharp snort exploded out of him—"GeRK!"—and he instantly slapped both hands over his mouth to muffle a fit of giggles.
Oliver sighed heavily, dropping his hands. "Okay, yeah, I brought that one on myself,"
Venti giggled softly, his braids swaying. "Yes, you absolutely did," he teased, a warm, gentle smile breaking across his lips. "But please, do not feel embarrassed for being frightened. Honestly, I would be questioning your sanity if you weren't scared at this point! We have faced so many horrific things today. And as for me... ha! I think I have witnessed more bizarre, terrifying madness in the last twelve hours than I have in my entire two thousand years as an Archon, haha... and that is truly saying something."
Oliver managed a weak smile. Put into perspective like that, the sheer absurdity of their day was staggering. "I just want this to be over. I've had more than enough of the multiverse for a lifetime," he murmured, rubbing his arms against the damp, heavy chill of the air.
"So... how vast do you suppose this place actually is?" Venti asked, scanning the identical paneled walls branching off into infinite intersections.
"Venti, I honestly have no idea. I don't even understand how Doctor Barclay pulled this off in the first place. How did he hook The Backrooms into his facility? Just how many fictional dimensions has he hoarded?" Oliver's mind raced as he looked at the rotting wallpaper. "The Backrooms are supposed to be endless... I wonder if Claire even knows this is down here."
As they trudged deeper through the yellow labyrinth, the atmosphere violently shifted.
Without warning, every single fluorescent tube overhead snapped off at once.
Total, suffocating darkness engulfed the corridor.
"That's not good..." Oliver stammered. He blindly grabbed for Venti.
"Don't panic, I'm right here, babe," Venti whispered instantly. The bard's warm hand clamped firmly around Oliver's forearm, grounding him. "Why did the power drop?"
"Venti, I don't know," Oliver muttered back, his heart hammering against his ribs.
A moment later, a sharp click-buzz echoed down the hall.
A tiny fraction of the lights flickered back on—not all of them, just a sparse, erratic scatter of overhead tubes every fifty feet. They cast isolated, sickly yellow pools of light across the damp carpet, leaving massive, yawning patches of pitch-black in between.
"Okay... do we keep going?" Venti whispered into the gloom.
Oliver swallowed hard. What other choice did they have? Stay here and wait for whatever roamed the dark? "Yeah. We keep going."
They moved cautiously, stepping from one spot of flickering light to the next, navigating tight corners and wide, unsettling spaces. As they rounded a sharp bend, Oliver spotted a narrow doorway set directly into the wall. It had no door, but mounted above the frame was a small, dusty plastic sign.
TRASH
Oliver blinked. "Trash?"
Just as they stopped in front of it, the overhead bulb inside the small room flickered, buzz-hummed, and flared fully to life.
Venti gestured toward the opening. "Let's check in there."
Oliver nodded. "Okay."
The room was cramped, stacked high with dusty cardboard boxes and crates that had been ripped open. It looked like a dumping ground for random salvage from a dozen different realities. Most of it was useless junk, but as Venti leaned over one of the crates, his eyes widened.
"Huh?" Venti blinked. "Are those... weapons? Guns?"
Oliver stepped up beside him, his eyes dropping to the crate. Heavy, metallic shapes rested inside. For a split second, a surge of survival instinct urged him to grab one.
Then he shook his head. He had his diamond sword—a blade he could summon at will, infused with biting Cryo magic. A standard firearm was child's play compared to that kind of elemental power.
"Do you... want to take one of these?" Venti asked, looking up at him thoughtfully. "As a secondary weapon?" The bard reached down, picking up a heavy, strangely designed pistol, and held it out for Oliver to inspect.
"Eh, no," Oliver shook his head, turning his gaze away. "I don't really need one. I've got my sword—I don't—" He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes snapped back to the weapon resting in Venti's hands, squinting as his brain finally registered the distinct, iconic shape of the modified DL-44 heavy blaster pistol.
"Oh, you don't want it?" Venti asked, starting to lower it back into the crate. "Oh! Right, you have your own magic weapon now! Ehe! I suppose a frost sword is far more impressive than whatever a firearm can do, assuming one is skilled with it of course—"
Before Venti could drop it back into the pile, Oliver practically lunged forward and snatched it out of his hands.
"Eh?!" Venti blinked in surprise, taking a quick step back. "I thought you said you didn't want—"
Oliver didn't answer. He spun around, gripped the grip with both hands, aimed the blaster at a blank section of the rotting yellow wallpaper, and pulled the trigger.
PEW!
A brilliant, searing red bolt of plasma shot from the barrel, striking the wall with a sharp zap and leaving a black, smoking burn mark right through the plaster.
Oliver lowered the weapon, his jaw slightly slack as he slowly turned back to Venti. "I am not passing up on a real, working Han Solo blaster."
Venti stared at him, a warm, amused smile melting onto his face. He obviously had zero clue who "Han Solo" was, but the sheer, unadulterated joy radiating off his boyfriend was unmistakable. "Ehe, I thought you just said you didn't want a gun?"
"This isn't a gun! It's a blaster! From Star Wars!" Oliver gasped, admiring the heavy metallic weight in his hands. He looked back at the smoking hole in the wall, a sudden, terrifying realization clicking into place. "Okay... Doctor Barclay hasn't just been extracting people. He's been stealing artifacts from everywhere. Now I finally get why this elevator led to a 'Storage Room'." He looked up at Venti, his eyes wide. "Babe... the Backrooms are endless. That's why he put his storage vault down here. He literally built an infinite warehouse!"
"Unlimited space, huh..." Venti mused softly, stepping out of the small trash room. Oliver followed right behind him, tucking the blaster securely into his waistband next to his two-way radio.
"Well, it's supposed to be infinite," Oliver said as they stepped back into the flickering corridor. "I just have no idea if this specific one he took has an end—"
They both froze dead in their tracks.
Standing fifty yards down the hall, marching in a tight, rigid formation directly toward them, were three figures clad head-to-toe in gleaming, stark-white armor, complete with full-face helmets featuring wide, dark, bulbous eye lenses.
Venti arched a single, confused eyebrow.
Oliver's mouth went slack for the second time in two minutes. 'This day physically cannot get any weirder,' he thought to himself.
The three Stormtroopers came to a sudden halt the moment they caught sight of the duo.
"Halt!" the lead trooper bellowed, his voice synthesized through his helmet speaker as he instantly raised his E-11 blaster rifle. The two troopers behind him snapped their weapons up in unison. "No unauthorized personnel are permitted are in this sector! Barclay's orders, and his assistant!"
"State your business," the second trooper demanded, slowly closing the distance with their rifles trained on the Archon and the human. "Do you work for the Doctor? Show your clearance keycard!"
Oliver and Venti exchanged a quick, bewildered glance.
"Show us your card!" the lead trooper barked again, coming to a stop a few paces away.
Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out the security keycard Claire had given them. The lead Stormtrooper violently snatched it out of his hand, holding it up to his helmet visor to inspect the chip.
While the troopers were momentarily distracted reading the card, Oliver leaned in close to Venti's ear, whispering barely above a breath. "Babe, these guys are called Stormtroopers. Let them finally live up to their name, huh?"
Venti blinked, but he caught the mischievous glint in Oliver's eyes. The bard offered a sharp, confident smirk and nodded.
The trooper stared at the card, then slowly raised his head to glare at Oliver. "What is this, a joke?" He slammed the card onto the floor, stamping his boot on it, and re-aimed his rifle straight at Oliver's chest. "Unless you underwent a transition and also changed your entire skin tone, you are not this woman on the card! Blast 'em, fellas!"
Before a single laser could fly, Venti thrust both hands forward.
A concussive, howling tempest of Anemo magic erupted from the bard's palms, roaring down the narrow yellow corridor like a hurricane. The sheer wind pressure hit the three Stormtroopers like a solid wall, tearing them off their feet and slamming them violently into the far plaster. Their heavy white helmets popped clean off their heads, clattering noisy across the damp carpet.
For safe measure, Oliver whipped his newly acquired Han Solo blaster from his waist and fired three rapid shots—PEW! PEW! PEW!—striking each of the downed troopers squarely in their armor chest plates, neutralizing them instantly.
Oliver lowered his arm, breathing heavily as he stared at the unconscious men. "Okay... this is officially the unhinged peak of my entire life. I just killed Stormtroopers in the Backrooms using a Star Wars blaster while standing next to a Genshin Impact god... You know what, I'm not even gonna process it." He tightened his grip on the handle.
"Well, at least they were dealt with swiftly!" Venti smiled brightly, dusting off his hands.
But the bard celebrated a second too early.
From the intersecting corridors and dark corners of the maze behind them, the heavy, footsteps clatter of dozens of armored boots echoed through the walls. Suddenly, a wave of Stormtroopers came pouring around the corners, taking up tactical positions along the walls and crouching behind structural pillars, leveling a wall of blaster rifles directly at the duo.
"We have you surrounded!" one shouted.
"Drop your weapons and surrender immediately!" another ordered.
"V-Venti... get your wind ready again," Oliver hissed under his breath, stepping shoulder-to-shoulder with his boyfriend.
Venti nodded, his eyes sharp. "And summon your sword. Let's hit them with an explosive blizzard Swirl!"
Oliver nodded firmly, mentally reaching for his Cryo magic. But as he glanced over his shoulder, his blood ran cold. Another squad had flanked them from behind. There had to be at least fifteen or twenty armored troopers clogging the narrow halls, all with blasters aimed squarely at their chests and backs. One stray bolt could be fatal.
Before either of them could launch their attack, something completely bizarre happened.
Without a sound, one of the Stormtroopers on the far left suddenly collapsed. A strange, crackling spark tore through his chest armor, and he crumpled lifelessly to the floor.
"What the—?!" the trooper next to him gasped, turning his head—only for a similar, translucent needle of energy to punch through his helmet, dropping him instant.
One by one, in rapid, silent succession, the surrounding troopers began dropping like flies, their bodies hitting the carpet with heavy thuds.
This wasn't right, and it was frankly alarming. Both Venti and Oliver suddenly went on edge seeing multiple of the stormtroopers drop on the ground.
This wasn't an attack from Oliver or Venti. It was something else—something precise, cruel, and terrifyingly efficient. Both Venti and Oliver immediately dropped their offensive stances, backing into each other's space as a wave of intense, suffocating pressure filled the corridor.
"W-What is going on?!" Oliver gasped, his eyes darting frantically across the pile of unconscious or dead guards.
Venti looked around, his breath hitching. That lingering, familiar energy he had felt all through the main building... it hadn't just flared. It had materialized right in front of them. The bard's knuckles turned white. He knew who this was.
Slowly, deliberately, the rhythmic sound of soft, leather boots echoed from the dark hallway ahead.
A figure emerged from the flickering light. He wore a long, immaculate white coat that resembled a high-tech lab coat mixed with fantasy robes. His pale, icy-blue hair framed a smooth, calculating face, half-hidden by a dark, avian mask covering his eyes.
"How very interesting," the man spoke. His voice was deep, smooth, and chillingly collected, echoing through the yellow halls with terrifying authority. "The Anemo Archon himself... has come to this world,"
Venti's breath caught in his throat. Pure, unadulterated venom flashed across the bard's face, his eyes narrowing into slits as an ancient, burning rage ignited within his soul. In a flash of emerald light, his bow materialized, drawn taut and aimed dead center at the man's chest.
"Dottore..." Venti spat, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with hatred.
A faint, mocking smirk touched the Doctor's lips.
Oliver gasped, his head snapping back and forth between the icy Fatui Harbinger and his visibly trembling boyfriend. The Doctor?! Here?!
Dottore casually stepped over the fallen Stormtroopers, raising a gloved hand. "I have learned so much since entering this strange, magnificent facility. I have acquired... new perspectives." He gestured lazily, and without touching the body, one of the dead troopers levitated several feet into the air, suspended by invisible, translucent tendrils of force.
"Huh?!" Oliver blinked, taking an instinctual step back. "You—you don't have magic like that! How are you doing that?!"
The scientist turned slightly toward Oliver, his dark mask reflecting the flickering overhead lights. "Power is such a fascinating, malleable concept. In our old world, I never cared for it. Visions are crude, primitive tools—unsuited for a mind of true intellect." He glanced up at the rotting ceiling. "But this realm... the world beyond Doctor Barclay's laboratory... is entirely free of divine oversight. There are no Archons watching. No Visions. No Celestia dictating fate. The mortals here construct their own fragile rules, then destroy each other over them. It is breathtakingly pure."
Dottore closed his hand into a fist, crushing the suspended trooper's armor like an aluminum can before letting the body crash back to the carpet.
"Free of Celestial strings," Dottore continued softly, inspecting his own gloved fingers. "Doctor Barclay commanded me to guard this facility's infrastructure. In exchange, he granted me access to technologies beyond human comprehension—and augmented my form with powers drawn from unknown sub-worlds. He promised to return me to Teyvat once his grand design was complete... Imagine what I can accomplish back home with the knowledge I have extracted here."
He finally looked back at Venti, entirely unfazed by the glowing Anemo arrow aimed directly at his throat. "Doctor Barclay educated me quite thoroughly on the nature of these sub-dimensions. I take it you are an anomaly from a different timeline, yes? You must be... considering I personally put an end to your life in mine."
A violent spike of protective rage surged through Oliver's veins. He summoned his frost-coated diamond sword with a sharp crack of air, stepping in front of Venti—but before he could lunge, Venti made a sharp, soft sound.
"Nuh-uh. You stay right behind me, honey," Venti commanded gently, his voice surprisingly steady despite his trembling hands. He lowered his bow just a fraction, keeping his eyes locked on the Harbinger. "You know... Dottore, I actually agree with you."
Dottore tilted his head, genuine amusement flickering across his face. "I beg your pardon?"
Oliver narrowed his eyes, confused, but stayed put.
Venti took a slow, steady breath. "I have always asked my people: What does freedom truly mean, when demanded of you by a god? Freedom, if it is commanded by an authority, is no real freedom at all."
Dottore interlaced his fingers before his chest. "Fascinating. I find it difficult to believe those words could ever come from the mouth of an Archon."
Venti let out a sharp, bitter sigh. "I never liked Celestia myself. I understood your frustration with them, Dottore. But I could never support you, because to fight them, you chose to torture innocent children and murder mortals for your sick experiments. That is where any shred of understanding dies."
Dottore let out a single, dry chuckle. "Ha. Love for humanity... a pathetic, hardcoded directive forced upon all Archons by Celestia."
"That is a lie," Venti declared, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "I learned what love was long before I ever had ascended to godhood—back when I was nothing more than a tiny wisp of wind in the air. My best friend showed me what true love and sacrifice meant. And that is something a hollow monster like you will never, ever experience."
Dottore's smirk vanished, his expression turning cold and clinical. "It seems my alternate self, or perhaps Signora, failed to execute you cleanly in your reality. Allow me to rectify their failure now."
Venti didn't hesitate. He snapped his fingers.
THOOM!
A blinding, violent bolt of jagged, golden-white lightning burst straight through the ceiling of the Backrooms, striking Dottore squarely on the top of his head.
The concussive blast rattled the entire hallway—but as the smoke cleared, the golden electricity didn't consume the scientist. Instead, the divine bolt violently ricocheted off Dottore's skin. Wild, branching arcs of lightning blasted outward in all directions, frying the yellow wallpaper into black ash, tearing through the plaster walls—and one thick, rogue branch of golden energy slammed violently into Oliver's chest.
Oliver was lifted off his feet, thrown backward through the air, and slammed hard against the far wall before crumpling to the floor, motionless.
Venti's heart stopped. The world went dead silent. He couldn't turn around. He couldn't force his eyes to look down at the ground behind him.
The Bolt of Judgment. The divine, forbidden strike meant for mortals... it had ricocheted off an immortal target, exactly as he had warned Oliver earlier.
"Ah," Dottore mused, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his face. "The Bolt of Retribution, was it? My apologies, Barbatos. Doctor Barclay rendered my body entirely immune to the elemental laws and divine magic of our homeland as part of our bargain. He swore he was a man of his word, guaranteeing no Archon or Vision-holder could ever harm me while I served him."
Venti's mind was a chaotic, screaming void of panic. He forced himself to move. Glancing down at Oliver's unmoving, charred body on the carpet, his eyes caught the Han Solo blaster lying near Oliver's limp hand.
In a flash of desperate movement, Venti snatched the blaster off the floor, leveled it with both hands, and pulled the trigger. "Immortal to my world's powers, but not to anything else I'd assume,"
PEW!
Dottore simply raised a gloved hand.
The brilliant red plasma bolt froze dead in mid-air three feet from his face, suspended in a shimmering, translucent distortion field. The Harbinger casually inspected the glowing projectile before closing his fist. The plasma withered away into nothingness.
Venti's breath hitched, terror clutching his chest.
"You truly believed you could defeat me, Anemo Archon?" Dottore sneered, taking a slow, terrifying step forward. "I slaughtered you in my realm. I will take great pleasure in doing it again."
Venti fired another shot. Dottore froze it effortlessly.
Venti backed up, his shoes slipping on the carpet as the scientist closed the distance. He fired a third time—Dottore stopped it again, then flicked his wrist. A kinetic shockwave slammed into Venti, knocking the blaster clean out of his hands—"GAH!"
The weapon clattered against the wall.
Fate, however, had one final, chaotic card to play.
The sudden impact against the plaster caused the unstable, trigger mechanism of the blaster to misfire. A single, wild red plasma bolt shot out from the blaster at an erratic angle, and then hit straight through the scientist's chest.
"AHHHH!" Dottore shrieked in sudden, agonizing shock.
He clutched his upper body, staggering backward as his hands came away from his chest. In the center of his chest, a smoking, tiny-sized hole pierced cleanly through his torso, offering a clear view of the yellow hallway behind him. The plasma bolt had completely disintegrated his internal organs.
The Doctor let out a wet, rattling gasp, his eyes wide with disbelief, before collapsing face-first onto the damp carpet, dead.
Venti stood frozen, his fists clenched tight at his sides, his chest heaving. "I should have killed you when I had the chance back in my own sub world," he whispered, his voice trembling.
He spun around, dropping to his knees beside Oliver.
Oliver lay flat on his back, his shirt scorched and torn, his skin covered in severe electrical burns, completely motionless.
Tears instantly flooded Venti's eyes, pouring down his cheeks. But deep within his soul, a desperate, stubborn spark ignited. He needed absolute, unwavering concentration. Without it, he wouldn't be able to pull this off.
The Archon hovered his hands over Oliver's burnt chest and closed his eyes.
He dug deep into the ancient core of his divinity. In a burst of emerald light, his mortal bard attire vanished, replaced instantly by his true Archon form—the flowing white robes, the glowing, feathered wings extending proudly from his back, his teal braids illuminating the dim corridor with intense, radiant light.
Venti pulsed his divine energy outward, closing his eyes tight and frantically visualizing the towering Anemo Statue of the Seven from Windrise.
Come on... Mark said these worlds are leaking into each other... come on, come on, come on! I should be able to use this!
A sudden, sharp gale howled through the narrow halls of the Backrooms. The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed violently, matching the rhythmic pulse of Venti's heartbeat. In his mind's eye, the moon in the statue's hands flared with bright emerald light.
He pushed with everything he had, pouring his very life force into the magic. The wind whipped through his hair, tearing at the yellow wallpaper—
And then, the connection to his world snapped.
The mental image of the statue shattered into dust. The howling wind instantly died. The erratic flickering of the lights settled back into a dull hum.
Venti slumped forward, completely spent, his divine robes fading back into his green mortal clothes.
He thought it hadn't worked. He thought he had failed.
Venti couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He buried his face against Oliver's chest, his fingers clutching tightly at the charred fabric of his boyfriend's shirt, sobs wracking his small frame.
And then, a sharp, ragged cough cut through the silence.
"Cough! Hack!"
Venti's eyes flew open.
Oliver groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering as his head rolled to the side. "Ahhh... what the hell hit me...?"
A gasping sob of pure relief escaped Venti's throat. "Oliver!" Tears streaming freely down his face, he scooped Oliver up, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace, burying his face in Oliver's neck.
Oliver blinked, confused, weakly wrapping an arm around the bard. "Venti? What... what happened? Where's Dottore? Wasn't he just standing right—?" Oliver looked over Venti's trembling shoulder and spotted Dottore's corpse lying motionless on the floor with a hole through his chest. "Oh. You did that?"
Venti sniffed loudly, wiping his nose with his sleeve as he pulled back. "No. His own profound incompetence and arrogance in this world did."
"Incompetence? But he's a genius. Evil, but brilliant," Oliver noted, trying to sit up.
"Well, he was exceptionally stupid just now," Venti muttered, resolutely looking away. He couldn't bring himself to tell Oliver that his own magic had almost killed him. It was too much to bear.
Oliver frowned, noticing the wet tracks on the bard's cheeks. "Venti? You're crying. What actually happened?"
"Nothing!" Venti insisted quickly, aggressively wiping his eyes.
"Babe," Oliver said sternly, taking Venti by the shoulders. "Don't lie to me. Do not try to 'Venti' your way out of this."
Venti sniffed again, letting out a weak, watery chuckle. "I am being honest... really. Dottore just said some... deeply cruel things, and tried to attack me. I am okay! It just shook me up a bit... Hey! Don't give me that look! I may be an Archon, but I still have feelings, you know. Words can still hurt." Venti leaned forward, pressing a series of soft, desperate kisses against Oliver's cheeks.
Oliver blinked, still feeling a bit dazed, before looking down at himself. "Uh... why is my shirt completely scorched and shredded?"
Venti silently swallowed the massive lump of guilt in his throat, offering a sheepish, guilty smile. "Uh... well, I don't know! But the good news is, it's just your shirt, and definitely not your pants!"