And for the first time in centuries, he felt understood.
The next day, on a remote island in Inazuma, a Fatui recon team found something they could not file in a standard report. scaramouche x debate club image
One Nobushi was embedded upside-down in a rice paddy, his hat spinning in slow motion. Another had left a perfect silhouette through a wooden storehouse wall. A third was tied in a bow using his own haori. And for the first time in centuries, he felt understood
And in the center of it all, sitting daintily on an overturned crate, was Scaramouche. He was polishing the Debate Club with a silk cloth. A single drop of something that was probably rain glistened on its iron face. Another had left a perfect silhouette through a
“This,” he said, his voice a silken whisper that could curdle milk, “is what the Grand Narukami Shrine entrusts to its guardians?”
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 smiled. It was the most unnerving thing the agent had ever seen.