They had been sent to clear a Nobushi encampment. By the time they arrived, the camp was a crime scene. Not of stealthy assassinations or arcane Electro overloads. It was a scene of profound, cartoonish, and absolute demolition.
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. 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. They had been sent to clear a Nobushi encampment
The shrine maiden cowered behind a broken omamori stand. “Please, Lord Harbinger, that is a sacred relic of debate resolution!” It was a scene of profound, cartoonish, and
“Lord Balladeer,” the lead agent stammered. “We came to assist. Are you… injured?”
The next day, on a remote island in Inazuma, a Fatui recon team found something they could not file in a standard report.