The shrine maiden cowered behind a broken omamori stand. “Please, Lord Harbinger, that is a sacred relic of debate resolution!”
And for the first time in centuries, he felt understood. scaramouche x debate club image
Scaramouche tilted his head, his indigo eyes reflecting the weapon’s dull sheen. He was a creature of finesse: lightning in a silk glove, poison in a porcelain cup. He preferred the quiet horror of a well-placed dagger or the elegant annihilation of his Electro abilities. This thing was an insult to his very nature. The shrine maiden cowered behind a broken omamori stand
He stood up, the club casting a monstrous shadow in the setting sun. The Balladeer, the puppet who despised the world, had found a new voice. It was not a clever argument or a whispered threat. It was a blunt, uncompromising statement of fact, delivered at high velocity. He was a creature of finesse: lightning in
And yet… he didn’t drop it.
Scaramouche didn’t look up. He gave the club a final, loving wipe. “Injured? No. Enlightened? Yes.” He hefted the massive weapon onto his shoulder with a casualness that defied physics. The timber groaned. The rivets strained. He looked ridiculous. He looked terrifying.
The next day, on a remote island in Inazuma, a Fatui recon team found something they could not file in a standard report.