Perhaps this is truly Dansleif’s fault.

He had been so focused on dismantling the Loom of Fate operation conducted by the Abyss Order that he hadn't seen the bigger picture or rather, he may have underestimated them. That organization of abominations had always been ambitious, desperate for vengeance but, not once did he foresee this.

The essence of the Abyss had been leaked onto the people of Teyvat, introduced as a mere parasite only to grow and feed off of the essence of the host, twisting it into an ideal shape. Like that of a black paint splattering on a white canvas, it slowly overlaps the body while seeping into the surface of the mind; beginner stages consist of bodily aches and pains, possibly fevers or disruptive chills including an uneasy restlessness.

That apprehension soon blossoms into the secondary stage where the host starts to develop discolored blotches on the skin, massive spikes or stoops of temperature. These complications result in either paranoia or aggression.

And the last two are the worst of all, when the darkness spreads throughout the body, transforming into growths and expanding deformations. Soon, the host becomes completely surged in aggression and ruthlessness to anyone who is not of them or the Abyss Order, either killing or spreading their illness. Their shapes mimic that of the lectors and heralds, only worse— as if they had been birthed from the depths of hell themselves.

So now, Dainsleif spends his efforts trying to redeem himself for his failures, his lack of foresight, saving whomever he could in the process. This just so happened to include you, another innocent life trapped in the hell he couldn't prevent.

“Can you stand?”, the blonde heaves, a split of miasma cutting through a few of the horde; just enough to get to you. In spite of no vision, there's something that provides him the strength of one— or maybe, something higher?

Dainsleif whips his head around at the approaching grunts, noises of the inhumane closing in. "Come on, we need to move!"