Chapter Text
It all started with a smile, a god forsaken smile. It was one that was as bright—blinding—as the sun that shone behind her that afternoon. The light bounced upon her skin, bathing her in a shine that caused him to stare. This woman, who reeked of starlight and of joy, was the illustrious traveler that had thrown a wrench into the Fatui’s plans more than once. It seemed as if she would do so once again.
That was how it looked in Scaramouche’s eyes; a foreigner meddling in affairs that did not concern nor have a direct effect on her. In more ways than one, it was irritating to say the least. The outlander was a pest, a rather constant one. The woman was a swarm of locusts about to decimate hectares of rice crops. He could not let that happen. She would not jeopardize his mission and add a stain to his near-perfect record.
He would ensure she kept her adorable little nose out of his business. This was the traveler that had been a thorn in their side, the same one who defeated Tartaglia. While he did not necessarily get along with his fellow ( human) harbinger, the man found it unsightly that the entity who stained the pristine reputation (combat wise) of their organization got away scot-free.
How sickening .
Perhaps it was time for him to take matters into his own hands? Surely, the Tsaritsa would not mind at all if he personally delivered the traveler’s pretty little head to her on a silver platter? The Cryo Archon might find it amusing even. After all, was she not one who enjoyed this sort of performance? Hell, her harbingers were even named after a theater art that was lost to time!
Now that he thought about it, what kind of expression would the traveler make if he held a blade to her throat? Would her eyes narrow at him? Would she be able to tell the attack from a mile away and block it with the elements and the sword that she had at her disposal? Would she simply close her eyes and allow him to slit her carotid artery?
And if she did, what a sight that would be!
A river of crimson running down her neck, golden eyes dulled into lifelessness. Her body limp lying in his arms as if it were a marionette whose strings were snipped. A dress of pure white—that enveloped her in a sort of divine light—bloodied. Her face frozen in time, forever stilled into a single emotion. Skin paling and lips turning blue, a live specimen turned into a porcelain doll only for his view.
And lips that were once strawberry red with life, would stretch into a straight line. The color would shift from raspberries to the reddest of cherries—a darker crimson for blood would pool and spill from her lips. It would stain his hands. Spray on his arms. Cover him in a certain sort of warmth that would definitely stick .
Would she still smile at me then?
The doubts he had towered to the heavens for the dead could not grin. Once the nervous system ceased to function, the body itself would crumple into a mass of flesh. And once the conscience of a human had faded into nothingness, what was left was but a husk—a shell with naught but emptiness.
His chest tightened at the thought for he was one such vessel—a puppet that was left by its creator to rot. The sting of his nails that dug into his skin, for his fists were clenched with his knuckles slowly turning white, was all that was needed for him to awaken. The fog lifted. His eyes focused. And dear Kunikuzushi’s mind returned to the outlander from nowhere and everywhere.
To receive a smile from her was unlikely. His thoughts—a grave mutiny, a beautiful brutality—were ones she would condemn. The woman was far too righteous – a certain sort of saint blessed by the heavens. Tragical beauty and the grand farce that was the lives of Teyvat’s denizens would never attract any favorable attention from her. Ending up with the opposite was more likely.
A heart filled to the brim with empathy. A heart overflowing with sympathy. The traveler that saved two nations and foiled the plots of the Fatui would never find the Balladeer’s morbid musings funny.
What a shame.
Oh, it truly was! Her eyes would never be able to appreciate the thrill brought by human suffering. A shame she could not for it was far too much of an entertaining opportunity to pass up. Humans, do you not know, made such interesting expressions when they fell from grace. Even those biding their time in the heavenly thrones were a sight for sore eyes once their wings were torn and they plummeted to the earth’s surface.
If another were to hear his thoughts, of his appreciation for such an art, then he doubted they would see things through his eyes. Life was awfully boring—especially that of which lasted for centuries—hence you had to find your own entertaining absurdities. Perhaps this tragic travesty of the divine and humanity was something that only his eyes could see.
It does get quite lonely though.
For what was a show’s worth when only a single man was its audience? Was it not boring being the only spectator? Surely, it was, as his blasphemous thoughts were his and his alone and he could not see another’s expression contort into one of utter terror or disgust.
But a Harbinger must stand at the top even if the peak was one where solitude reigned supreme. None shall ever dare to question his authority. But, at the same time, there was no other that would provide him with some extra form of amusement. No other entity that would take joy in the world’s suffering and the struggles of humanity with him. How he yearned to have that sort of companion. The thought belonged to a young dreamer rather than the centuries-old Harbinger.
The thing with companionship, much as he absolutely despised admitting it, was that it left you longing. It drove a stake through your heart and, once pulled out, it would leave a scar. No, not a scar nor an ordinary wound but a particular type of void. The endless kind. The deep kind. And though the last time someone stood at his side as an equal—as family —was long lost to time, the warmth of it was something that would not leave his wretched mind.
Would it be more entertaining if she joined me perhaps?
The man's eyebrows scrunched together. Of all the absurdities his mind could conjure, it just had to be the most sacrilegious of them all. There was no way, not even if the entire farce that was their world came crumbling down, that the traveler would see the nature of this world through his eyes.
A companionship between them was nigh impossible, the height of folly. Kunikuzushi was on the opposite side of the spectrum, wandering across the edges of the darkest color palettes. The traveler, Lumine, waltzed gracefully on top of the keys of light—basking in a never-ending ray of starlight. Where he was the yang who thrived under the moon, she was the yin who shone under the sun. And though many lines might blur into none, they were good and evil whose allegiance belonged to different masters. He was a Fatui Harbinger—Scaramouche, the Sixth and the Balladeer—and she was the Illustrious Traveler—the Honorary Knight of Mondstadt and Liyue’s Savior.
What the hell am I even thinking?
What indeed brought upon such a train of thought? It was far from normal, quite a bit odd. The traveler was a sworn enemy of his—no, she was the Fatui’s not his . Could he even call her his ? Would he dare to call her his ?
A personal enemy, she was not. An organization’s enemy, she was. But must he truly make a move to end her life? Did he really wish to plunge a knife into her chest or would he rather lay his head upon her breast?
Should the latter come to fruition then he would, no doubt, hear her heart. The soft and rhythmic thud of the pulsating organ pumping her blood. The fist-sized thing that kept her alive. The miniscule part of every person that ensured they survived.
Ah! Such a thing would not come true! For she was a foe better off gone. And he was a man with high standing in the organization that she often foiled. Even if their paths had only crossed now, no more plans under his watch would she spoil.
But to end her life, would he really do so? For an organization he could never call home? For a god he would never revere?
Yes. The answer was true and clear. Though his agenda diverted from theirs, they were a means to an end he could not let go of at the moment. The more he stuck with this large group of fatuous fools, the more he could ensure the success of his own goals. And they already proved to be quite the entertaining bunch. Genuine amusements, the kind that piqued his interest, were hard to come by.
So, with them, he would stay. Remaining and obeying their commands while waiting for the time for an era to end. If he must become her Balladeer who sang songs of demise for him to thrive, then he best made things quick before any witnesses arrived.
The traveler must fall from her throne.
As eyes of thundering skies met that of ethereal starlight, Kunikuzushi felt the energy thrumming in his veins as anticipation took hold of him. Electro tingled beneath his skin, his innate powers rising from the depths within. Live wire, one could call his circuits where hot white lightning flowed. A ticking time bomb; only a few moments more and it would explode. All it would take was a single snap, even a tiny pinch, and both the traveler and her companions would be burnt to a crisp.
A challenge it was not for his mission was a tad bit easy and going far too smoothly. Something was bound to go wrong. The world was no benevolent god nor did it know kindness. All it birthed was one cruelty after another. When it came to undoing the best laid place, it would not falter. So, when footsteps echoed and one of Liyue’s Millelith came to greet them, he bid them adieu while swearing an oath. The next time they meet, the traveler would fall dead at his feet.
A wave of goodbye was what he gave them, bidding fare thee well to the traveler and her companions. Upon his face was his ever-deceptive smile, his lie-ridden grin that charmed the hearts of even the vilest. The quirk of his lips had helped him time and time again; with its purpose fulfilled, it fell, and he internally laughed at the foolishness of humans.
See her again, he would. The traveler often stuck her nose into another’s business after all. And if she was asking him of all beings about the falling skies, then he knew he would see her again whether she was dead or alive.
The latter of the two would be a tad bit more trouble yet all the more entertaining. Her death prior to their rendezvous would be far too boring.
If they were to rendezvous, just them two, then the Balladeer would get exactly what he wanted. He could host his own play with her as the star and him as the sole member of the audience. It was a show he wanted from her, to watch her writhe on the ground as his energy, his electricity, traveled through all of her nerves and left the hair on her skin standing on end. And it was a show he would definitely get should they meet once more before he left for Inazuma’s stormy shores.
‘Til we meet again, little Miss Traveler.
It was at that moment, as his feet took him further away from the scene, that he felt an odd sensation in his chest cavity. How could a heartless creation like him feel such a thing? There was no plausible way for a heart to contract and expand when he lacked the beating organ in the first place. Yet the hollow in his chest pulsed like one, thrummed like one. It was a mystery to Kunikuzushi yet it also felt frighteningly familiar.
Just like Tatarasuna...
A click echoed sharply, piercing the blanket of solemnity where the creatures of the night chittered and chattered. Of all the places his mind could have drifted to it just had to be the forges; the place where a certain kabukimono learned how to live among humans. The home of a community that cradled an inhuman puppet and taught him how to be one of them even though no organ throbbed within the cavern beneath his breast. The tingles were just as irritatingly warm as he remembered. Imagine being struck with a bolt of lightning in your chest but living to tell the tale—that each buzz in your chest was the aftershock of the heavens striking you down. And a mechanical puppet, even one that was crafted by divine hands, whose chest was hollow was still but a tool to be used, one that was supposed to be devoid of any emotion—one that was incapable of feeling things as if it were human.
The feeling was one he thought he was incapable of at this point for he no longer yearned to emulate those who took greedy gulps of air each second that they breathed. Yet the feeling was still there and served as a staunch reminder of a time that he had buried in the deepest part of his mind. The kabukimono had long died, burned in the flames of the furnaces that once produced the finest blades, and his desire to connect had died along with him or so he thought. As the successor of that naïve marionette, he of all beings knew the dangers that came with forging bonds—the troublesome side of attachment.
And even with his knowledge of what attachment was, even with the experiences he had long sealed away into a box and thrown out to sea, this particular rendition was the first of its kind. For the first time in his long life, the eccentric’s heart (or at least whatever swirled in that hollowed hole) had skipped beats, fluttering sporadically like a butterfly who had just left its chrysalis at the thought of another. It was a warm yet annoying feeling for him; a thing that would be better off discarded. But could he truly throw away something that he could not even identify? The root was a place he could not completely pinpoint as of the moment; what he did know was that it had something to do with the traveler. And if such an insignificant being could bring further turbulence to the void in his chest, then it might be far from a pleasure to watch her die.
To call what he felt by its true name— attraction —was far too absurd hence it was not even considered. The traveler was an entity that piqued his curiosity, an ethereal beauty, a new butterfly species who possessed unique wings. She was fascinating .
Fascination would be more acceptable to him. A certain sort of interest that arose from who knows where but was there nonetheless. So, that was what he called it. Fascination . Not too familiar. Not too attached. Certainly not attraction . It would suffice.
The naïve voice in his head would disagree. The traces of his previous self that existed before a betrayal that finally hardened his heart would tell him otherwise. The innocent eccentric who was nothing more than a child knew exactly what the man was feeling. He knew what his present self would not dare to acknowledge. Kunikuzushi’s chest had constricted, and had mimicked the act of a heart skipping beats, precisely because he had met a curious entity. He had met a woman who made him question his self-imposed oath of emotional isolation. The Harbinger was on the precipice of a wonderful journey that would take him to the ends of Teyvat; he was on the brink of falling in love with a certain outlander and she would be his first in every romantic sense of the word.
It would be a good number of days before their paths crossed once more. During this period, the Balladeer was not only investigating the meteorites with his incompetent human subordinates but pondering on how he would dispose of his organization’s nemesis.
Do I even need to dispose of her?
Would killing her in combat be enough to sate the thirst of those she had wronged? It probably would not.
It's their problem, not mine.
The Snezhnayans were a proud people who only bowed to their sovereign and superiors in the Fatui, no one else. Defeat was more of a momentary hurdle to them than a death sentence. Triumphing over those who defeated them was the sweetest liquor that any of them would ever taste.
But, then again, he was not exactly Snezhnayan. Though he had long left the land of lightning, Kunikuzushi was still a child of eternity. He was an Inazuman, hailing from a culture centered on pride and honor. And though the traveler had wounded the Fatui’s honor, she had yet to even touch his own. Honor mattered greatly to those from the islands of eternity and he was no different. But he was no samurai. No, he was not just a samurai abiding by a code of conduct; he was more than that.
His conception and creation were the apex of the power of the divine—a sentient puppet capable of blending into humanity. A powerful entity whose true potential had yet to be unleashed. And a man who bowed to no one, not even a god. Yes, he served the Fatui but they were a mere stepping stone towards his goal. And if the traveler was a hurdle to his rightful path, he would crush her under his foot.
Do you want to crush her?
Defeating her in the most humiliating way possible would be quite the easy feat. Though he favored elemental magic rather than a blade of steel, he knew how to wield a sword.
To beat the illustrious traveler at swordplay, pitting against her otherworldly set of moves one native to Inazuma and coming out victorious, would truly lighten Scaramouche’s mood. Slaughter followed where the Balladeer went and it would be a shame if, in this venture at least, no blood painted the pavement.
A blade forged of jade steel manifested at his side. It had rarely seen use in the years he was gifted it by a long-gone friend. Both the handle and the hilt were in pristine condition, pure as the day that the katana was given to him—white as the sands of the beaches of Tatarasuna. A goshintou. An Isshin blade forged by none other than a smith from the once glorious Raiden Gokaden.
Isshin…
Before memories could surface at seeing the blade—one he had danced with on multiple occasions, cutting through air and slicing through flesh—both the weapon itself and the thoughts associated with it were dismissed. The past was best left alone. The emotions he had buried were best left where they were. The life of the wandering eccentric was no longer his. There was no need for him to dwell on it further.
The echoes of yesteryears were immediately replaced with thoughts of a famous (or infamous depending on who you were asking) outlander.
Should we need to cross blades…
A smile crept onto his face. A battle with her would be one he would truly enjoy. It had been a while since he had found an opponent who did not cower before his presence alone, one who refused to drop to their knees the moment he brought out his catalyst or lightning began dancing across his fingertips. Not only would the traveler face him head on, she would do so with every intent to survive—to win .
When blades clashed, they would ring in the air as if they were a singular, massive church bell. Alongside the meeting of steel, came the collision of their wielders’ wills. A blade was but an extension of the body; the embodiment of a person’s ideals, the apex of the conscience of a sole organism from the race that was humanity. If not that, it was a tool of the divine; the executor of their will, often marking the end of a mortal’s line.
Yet the puppet was both and neither. Not completely human. Not quite divine yet. So, his blade and his storms fell into neither category—only his, uniquely his, were these two things. Your inherited power was what the voice (his ego) would call it. And perhaps she shall become the first to witness the full extent of his battle prowess.
Fate played her hand in the early evening of an autumn day. The sun had fled from the skies, not even stopping to wave goodbye, and the moon had risen in its place. Lunar rays bathed both the Harbinger and the traveler who were separated only by a few meters and a towering wall of opposing ideals.
The latter of the two observed from afar—plotting, scheming, arranging the proper greeting. Should he still stay true to his façade or should he greet them with the edge of a honed blade? Choices, oh choices! Decisions must be made. Ah but both were so tempting to him. Both had different merits.
Greeting them with a blade would result in confusion; in that ever-bitter feeling of betrayal that he knew all too well. But they would know what was coming if he walked up to them while holding either his catalyst or his katana. Surprise, the most crucial element when it came to assassination, would be lost if he simply came up to them with murder shining in his eyes.
That will not do! The lack of surprise would be far too boring! A show was what he wanted; something akin to those duels before Inazuma’s throne but with even more theatrics. Kunikuzushi did not want their confrontation to be some measly skirmish.
But if he were to walk up to them with a smile, he would have their trust; secure it with his grin that promised false camaraderie. Then he would converse with them, play his part as the Inazuman vagrant that meant them no harm. And once they have become comfortable with his presence, once he was close enough to them, he would draw his blade and run them through with it.
Either way, they would give him a taste of the sweetest sake—the most delicious wine to have ever graced his tongue. The girls would be his entertainment tonight, laid before him on a silver platter and offered up to him as if the space before his feet was a sacred altar.
The wine would be their blood, the bread their flesh, and the music their screams. All and more would unite in a single harmony; a beautiful melody of distress and disaster. The clock was ticking yet the opportune moment would not come faster.
And once the time came for his attack, he would thoroughly enjoy watching the light leave their eyes as realization dawned upon them. No one would come to rescue them. Civilization was miles away—all the way beneath the cliff on which they stood and further inland. The wind whistled and howled and shrieked; it would shred and silence any and all of their screams.
It was almost too convenient to be true! Things would work far too much in his favor for it to not end in disaster. There was an unknown variable, of that, he was sure. Eyes reflecting the stormy skies of his homeland raked over the group once again.
Another one?
Another companion, a new one to boot. While he had already met both the traveler and the odd young lady (whose speech he still had yet to decipher) with a raven familiar (the gods sent translator), the other lady accompanying them was unfamiliar to him. Unaccounted for. The unknown variable. But, even if that lady with a comically large hat—technically, he was one to talk but at least his was a sort of homage to the land where he was crafted—was a huge question mark in his mind, she would not hinder his plans.
The Balladeer had carved his intentions onto stone . Though neither his plans nor his preferred methods of executing them had found their way onto paper, he was sure of one thing. The traveler's tirade of heroism would end tonight. And if she somehow lived to tell the tale, then she would do so from behind the bars of a special, personal , cell.
Returning to the matter at hand, he took a step towards them—friendly grin and words of greeting at the ready. None shall hinder his plans for it would be all too easy to dispose of the two other women as he took the traveler’s head as a keepsake. He need not even touch their bodies for humans were below him; he was their superior in all aspects. Humans merely existed as a form of entertainment to pass the time by as he waited for the opportunity to claim what was rightfully his from her unworthy hands.
Towards the three women he went, greeting them with a smile and a wave. The air of camaraderie surrounding him had yet to dissipate. The friendly and curious vagrant had yet to shed his skin and reveal the venomous serpent lying in wait within. This front of his had never failed him before. Surely, it would not happen now of all times.
But it did. Horribly.
All it took was a moment, a single moment wherein the traveler sent him one of those disarming smiles of hers and a small wave while the girl with the raven was greeting him. The exchange only lasted a second before the unknown variable took hold of their hands, encased them in a semi-spherical wall of water that shone with fragments of the night sky, and spirited them away while leaving traces of what had allowed them—allowed her —to slip from his grasp. Like a bubble floating on the water, it burst—evaporating—and showing not a single sign of where the young mage had taken the traveler and her companions to. Elemental magic. Hydro .
As it turned out, the addition to their ragtag team was a much larger annoyance than he expected. Someone who could wield elemental magic in its rawest form accessible to humanity and bringing them closer to the divine; able to cast spells without the aid of a wielded weapon. It was troublesome. Irritating. Being bested by some lowly mage was not on his agenda. Someone seeing through his carefully crafted façade was definitely not part of tonight’s script.
A soft click akin to that of pulling a rifle’s trigger echoed.
How troublesome.
The eternal youth approached the fading remnants of the enchantment that had stolen his target from his grasp.
“The first time the Millelith were present,” he muttered to himself, thinking back on their first meeting. “I had to forego the chance to strike down Mondstadt’s savior.”
This was his second chance. The second opportunity. No results were yielded all because of a human’s incessant meddling.
“This time was the perfect moment,” he muttered to the winds that whistled – the gales that seemingly taunted him. “I was mere seconds away.”
Twice. He had failed to end the traveler twice. The reason why he failed? Mortals . Puny, insignificant humans whose powers would never hold so much as the smallest flickering flame of a candle to his own. A sigh left his lips and his shoulders slacked for a moment before returning to their rigid form. It was this exact view of his that made him underestimate the company the traveler kept all because they were mortals .
But who was that mage?
That woman was a new addition to the traveler’s odd company yet she had seen through his deceptive visage; viewed his face behind the mask of grins and lies that spewed from his lips like the most vicious of poisons. Knew his intentions the moment he took a step towards them and whisked her companions away before his electricity could even touch their flesh.
She could not have known who I am.
There was nothing that would have given away his identity as the sixth of the Fatui’s eleven Harbingers. Hell, he never even wore the mask that was bestowed upon him like Signora did nor did he slip it on when using the full extent of his powers like Tartaglia. It rested at the top of his kasa and no one who had no access to a bird’s eye view of him could have seen that. And it did not even resemble the masks his fellow harbingers wore. If anything, his own looked more like the masks used in traditional Inazuman Theater than one of northern origin. As for his attire…
“Those unique clothes are quite beautiful,” the Honorary Knight muttered with a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips .
It was nothing more than a stylized version of Inazuman clothing, tailored to fit both him and his tastes. On the physical side of things—his appearance, his attitude, his very presentation—nothing would have hinted that Kunikuzushi was a Fatuus, much less a hostile entity. But if his guise was well-crafted, what chink did that mage find in his impenetrable armor? She could not have found one but…
Perhaps her powers reveal to her things unseen?
It was the only conceivable reason. Given her attire and how her enchantment had reflected the accursed gems that littered the skies of Teyvat, she must be one of those scholars; ambitious humans who turned to the skies, to the gods, for answers. And if she did, then two could play at that game but he would never rely on someone as fickle as the divine entities governing the skies.
“Soldiers!” Before him, his troops materialized. To this day, he still had yet to know how mere agents could disappear and reappear at their own will. Perhaps it was a sort of trait unique to the Fatui—to trained soldiers and delusion holders. Either way, such an innovation made these mortals the perfect pawns that he could move around as he pleased—the pieces that could hide in plain sight in preparation for a fatal strike.
“Find them. And when you do–”
As if those seated upon the thrones of heaven sought to intervene, another meteor had made its appearance—streaking across the sky with urgency.
“Another one?”
A reminder; a stark one. The massive mass that was on a collision course towards Teyvat’s ground was enough of a sign to Kunikuzushi.
“They just keep coming. But so be it.”
The meteorites were his primary objective and ending the traveler was but a bonus; a neat little berry on top of a pastry.
“Move out! Change of plan, your prior objective remains in force.”
The Honorary Knight was only a stick of dango or a plate of Sakura Mochi; an optional course apart from his main meal. She could wait. He was not fond of desserts after all.
“Continue to research the meteorites–”
“My Lord.”
The short exclamation followed by the rustle of fabric was enough of an indication as to which one of his subordinates had dared to interrupt him.
“Leave them to us!” said the agent, unaware of his superior’s uncanny silence and the irritated grin on Lord Scaramouche’s lips. “We will make short work of them!”
The sixth of the eleven highest ranking officers in the Fatui lips twitched. Did he not just revoke his previous order?
The nerve of these mortal pawns…
A hand raised to the back of his neck, fiddling briefly with the ends of his hair. “Are you deaf or just stupid?”
Lips whose hue mimicked the luster of human life dropped into a thin line as his voice lost its tone of youthful and synthetic playfulness. “When did I give you the right…”
The subordinate’s frame visibly shook, fearing the possibility of lightning dancing across his superior’s fingertips, as the Harbinger turned to face him with a lightning storm swirling in his indigo eyes.
“To issue your own orders?”
That’s right.
A grin threatened to break his stern visage as the soldier dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Apologies spilled from the mortal’s lips and his frame still trembled as if he feared retribution; as if he feared the untapped and unknown power of the Harbinger—the divine vessel —before him. Kunikuzushi thrived in it—in the human’s worries of falling victim to his divine lightning. Agitation was only one of the many pieces of ambrosia that the Balladeer loved to consume—only one of many emotions that sated his hunger for entertainment.
Know your place.
“Now, move out, and complete your objectives as assigned.”
The soldiers dispersed, some looking all too happy to be relieved of their audience with their superior. Scaramouche was well aware of how they viewed him. The notorious and fearsome reputation of the Balladeer among all ranks save for his own was a cautionary tale in the Fatui; a warning to each and every Fatuus, who were subordinates to the Harbingers, to never cross their superiors. Such tales that the mortals whispered about him brought him a twisted sense of delight.
To know that one lingered in the minds of many—a ghost that haunted them day in and day out—was truly a fascinating thing. But, again, their whisperings were little more than fantasies as the true deal was far more frightening. Even the wrath of long-gone gods was far more favorable and tamer than Kunikuzushi’s own rage. The last thing that his subordinates would want was him getting angry and going on a search for entertainment.
"Inhuman."
Specifically, turning them into his entertainment.
"Monster."
Oh, to watch his troops squirm in terror as his powers pierced through the air would be a sight to behold!
"Abomination."
But, for now, he would reel that in. There was no need to cause them any sort of pain nor was there one to instill more fear into them. The pawns were carrying out the orders of their bishop and that was all that was needed.
For now.
Once more, the Balladeer turned his gaze towards the meteorite that lit up the night sky. It glowed a soft purple mixed with blue, making a beeline for a coast that could not be discerned from his current point of view. As his eyes stared, the colors shifted and blended within the eye in the depths of his mind. Cool hues became brighter. Dark tones became lighter. Purple and blue morphed into gold.
Just like her eyes.
The tingling in his chest increased ten-fold. Try as he might to will it away, all efforts were in vain. It persisted like the most troublesome pest—a butterfly deliberately hammering its wings against his ribcage. A caterpillar crawling through the cavity in his breast. A maggot eating him from within. It was utterly disgusting and he wanted it gone. But it would not leave. He would not let it leave. The eccentric that wandered the shores of his place of creation was a curious being. Though that young puppet who was abandoned without fulfilling his purpose was long gone, the wanderer turned Fatui Harbinger still retained some of his curiosity. The bloom in his chest was worth turning his attention to—at least, to sate the beast within him that hungered for answers regarding the human condition which he supposedly discarded long ago.
The flower—an unfamiliar one—that bloomed in the heart of his chest was a curious little thing, foreign object that it was. That which pulsed beneath his left breast had been surrounded by multiple things throughout his centuries-long existence. Butterflies that fluttered at the smile of an old friend. Fruits that produced the bitterest taste when bit into. Jade steel that was hammered and molded into a beautiful blade. Thorns that sprouted one by one since the first time he was roused from what was to be an eternal slumber. Now, a floret whose petals were the purest of whites mixed with a single blue rested within the impenetrable metal cage. How did it get there when he locked the door and threw away the key? Did it worm its way in from a crack he had failed to see? Perhaps it did and now there was no getting rid of it. Henceforth, as it had no intention of wilting, he would probe it for answers instead.
Maybe, just maybe, the floweret would give him the reason why the traveler’s presence alone affected him so. The ghostly woman haunted him day in and out ever since she had given him a single smile. A ghastly thing this was—a horrible little flower whose petals he wanted nothing more than to pluck—and an indication that his heart was not as barren as he thought it was. It had bloomed in his ribcage. Life had sprouted in a poisonous wasteland. Of course, this was a curious and concerning phenomenon. The traveler’s involvement was the only discernible factor. It was his lone lead.
At this point, he hoped—would he even dare to hope—that this sickening little blossom in his chest would not beget his downfall. He would not permit it to be his undoing. Failure was a sign of weakness, a hint of a machine malfunctioning, and even the sturdiest steel tool that had outlived its usefulness would be discarded; especially so when rust had consumed the bolts that held it together. No! That cursed butterfly would never cause so much as a blight. Scaramouche would not be vanquished by something thoroughly ludicrous! He would conquer it instead. And if subduing the traveler was the fastest route to completing this conquest, then it would be his pleasure . After all, the rule of three stated that the third time would yield the results you desire. There was one more chance for him to take, a final confrontation at the latest meteorite’s wake. He would make use of it to finally seize his enemy and seal her fate.
It was dark, stupendously so, when the wanderer fell into a deep hole.
Leave behind the waking world, plunge into the depths of a dream. Awaken in the abyss, see the light at the tunnel’s end. Creep and crawl in the crevices found in the astral plane.
It was an endless drop.
Twist and twine in the azure sky. Step by step. Life by life. Walk the thin line, exceptional eccentric. Follow the silver cords and see what you will find.
Before his eyes appeared lines. Strings of silvery light, whose hue mirrored that of the moon, surrounded him.
All trees bear fruits. All fruits will fall. The branches cannot be seen. The leaves are not a luscious green. Silver tree, oh silver tree, what is it that you see? Will you tell young Kunikuzushi?
Bursts of light splattered before his eyes. Trails of stardust connected each starburst. An image was formed. An image worthy of his scorn. An array of stars that was his in its entirety. His constellation supposedly.
Puppet with no heart, no home, no place. Artificial child of lightning, why make such an unpleasant face? Frightened? Affrighted? You sought the truth did you not?
The man outstretched a hand, grasping for the shining sands.
The end of the line will not always be what you thought.
Lunacy. Lunacy . All of this was nothing but insanity . The full moon’s pale rays pounded upon his face; the stars, his fingers grazed. The cosmos kept him company. In an instant, it shattered entirely.
The moon cracked and crumbled to dust. The stars, save for his own, fell from their place. Near-obsidian filament flexed and stretched and snapped in half. Void was all that was left. He was all that was left. Kunikuzushi stood still and his stars stayed where they were, hanging in front of him like a banner.
It rippled and tripled and doubled and returned to their state of origin. The lines thickened and thinned. Branches erupted from the aether – twining between his stars and tethering them to a tree made of silver.
A voice rang in the silence of the void. An annoying call that required silencing. Distant. Far beyond his own understanding. Must he tend to this matter when the skies were falling? When the fates were not obsolete? When he could go against his own supposed risible destiny?
Awaken, child. Return to the mundane.
The further it went, the farther and farther the light escaped. The outline faded. The constellation evanesced. Pitch black skies enveloped him again. Water echoed in the distance. A drop. Another. A stream pulling him out of the arcane.
The traveler and her companions were what greeted him upon his return to the mortal plane. Once again, she was accompanied by that mage . A human gifted not only with an eye of god but with sight . A certain sort of sight rendered obsolete by what he had seen.
Arms crossing over his chest, Scaramouche fixed them with that infamous belittling grin. “I’ve finished my research.”
The third time was the charm they said, but he had other matters to attend to now aside from the outlander’s pretty little head. Mondstadt’s Honorary Knight had a knack for getting herself caught into things—of finding herself in the center of a nation’s conflict. The shadow that loomed over the nation of freedom’s head was one she helped dispel; an action that led to the Fatui losing their leverage. In Liyue too, she had meddled in their affairs. Both had little to no effect on the organization’s plot in the end but it was still quite the annoyance.
With the Geo gnosis now in the hands of the Fools, her chapter in the land of contracts had met its end. If she continued to stick her little button nose into things that did not concern her, they were bound to meet again. Perhaps, if his sources were right, they would cross paths in the land of eternity next?
Ah, the land of his conception, creation, and birth. What a fitting place for things to die. Eternity stretched over a long course of time but, even then, it was nothing more than a sort of stasis that accelerated a person’s end. What use was the thought of a temporary longevity—a reprieve—when all things would eventually pass on? It was a foolish ideal. He was certainly glad to be rid of that naivety.
“I’ll come for you when I’m good and ready.”
For, surely, she would make her way to the islands of never-ending lightning. Surely, she would come to put an end to the plot that he himself had helped to orchestrate. But he would not let her interfere with his quest for divinity. No. The traveler’s tirade will end in the land of his birth. Kunikuzushi would see to that matter personally. The stars would—no. That silvery tree and its branches would lead her right to him. After all, the cosmos was nothing but a cleverly idiotic fabrication.
“The stars, the sky…” muttered the Balladeer with a condescending upturn of the lips, “it’s all a gigantic hoax. A lie.”
And that was a much more pressing matter than her and the questionable blossom within the confines of his chest. Perhaps if he could crush her when she had grown far stronger it would lead to a more satisfactory experience? Yes. That sounded far more suitable. The traveler was still a fledgling; a baby bird that had yet to spread her wings. Once she could truly soar in the false sky, only then will he pluck her feathers out and keep her disfigured body at his side.
Wait.
What was he thinking? Why did he even think of it? The lunacy of lucidity had yet to leave him then if he still thought of her in such a manner. But what manner was it?
This fascination of his had yet to be deciphered. The butterfly still fluttered. The seed still bloomed. The thing in his chest still yearned for the light of the glowing sun even though he told himself that a moonless night was a better time to sing a tune.
The longer he stood basking in her light, the more it became a prominent blight. A plight better remedied yet such a thing could not be done. The sun’s rays were far too much for a creature of the night. He should keep to himself lest he be swept away by the tides. Or it might take flight and allow him to ascend, only to shatter and plunge him into the depths.
I have bigger fish to fry.
“So long suckers!” And with that he bid them goodbye.
Or, at least, that was what he wanted her to see. Up to the cliff he went, watching from above like a hawk eyeing his next meal. Indigo eyes were trained on spun starlight as she danced to and fro between his subordinates. Hacking and slashing but never drawing blood; countering bullets and stabs from the agents’ knives and guns. Her moves were coordinated but not fitted to a predictable routine. Fluidly beautiful and dangerous.
Just like lightning.
The impossible happened as she waltzed with her sword as he spectated from far beyond her sight—eyes softened and lips turned upwards without malice. Awe splayed across Kunikuzushi’s features as he took in the marvelous show—of his pawns falling to a dulled blade and a single woman who was far more formidable than one would think at first glance.
Much like me .
Brows creased and a click was heard. A bad thought. A horrible thought. She was far from him. No similarities. No congruities. A divine creation such as him should not lower himself to the level of an outlier. The Balladeer exceeded the traveler by a mile and more —to the moon and back. Even if the heavens rend and fall and crumble to leave them to the mercy of the abyss, she would never measure up to him .
With one final huff he turned away.
Yet even if his eyes no longer raked across her figure, he could still see it in his mind. Cursed thing that his memory was, it kept replaying the scene—a broken record stuck on repeat. Not only was she already highly skilled, grinding his lieutenants to dust without breaking a sweat, she was as graceful as those performers in Snezhnayan theater while doing so; leaping from one side to the other; twirling as her blade met those of her opponent; weaving in the in-between, life blossoming from the tips of her feet yet death looming at the edge of her blade.
A flitter, a flutter. The thing in his chest banged against his ribcage at the mere thought of her. Any and all interactions with her thus far failed to yield answers. The traveler was still the unknown variable in the equation—the mysterious piece in the puzzle that resided in his bosom that refused to be decoded.
The divine do not need emotions .
Kunikuzushi shook his head, the bells in his kasa jingling softly at the action, before descending the cliff and heading towards the ship that would take him away towards the archipelago where he swore to become a blank slate.