littlesilhouettoofaman | The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

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The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

First they were nothing but echoes, noises without a source or purpose, just something he could blame on the battle he just lost. But echoes changed into soft voices and footsteps and eventually he could even hear the sound of rain outside.
And his body did not hurt after the fall he made, it is merely a familiar sort of uncomfortable sensation of joints popped out of place and cracks that shouldn’t be there. But he had expected to be beyond angry, to feel that rage surge through him, that sense of absolute frustration and that undying desire to serve a certain purpose, that certain purpose. But surprisingly enough there was nothing for now. Just a dreadful, heavy emptiness.

Of course he remembered everything. How could he forget it? Yet another setback. He had been so close to fulfilling his birthright and then that idiot… Oh, yes, the idiot. That buffoon who ranked way lower than him and had the audacity to stand up to a god. And had the audacity to win.

The room is quite dark and when he opens his eyes he can see a couple of figures standing close and half of his mind expects to see the Doctor standing between all of them. But he is nowhere to be seen.

“Get out.”

Did they all come to look at a fallen god? Because seriously, who’d given them the right to do so? So when he repeats the words for a second time they are louder and a lot more threatening.

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Scaramouche remembers what Signora once told him. That the only reason for his position as the Sixth of the Harbingers is the abuse he can take. And, in a way, she isn't wrong. He has always been hard to kill and Dottore has never been kind when it came to the repairs and adjustments he did. There always has been a certain madness to it, but then again, he himself is far from sane as well.

He cackles.

Like the reckless idiot Childe is, he comes at him with full strength, not holding back one bit. And Scaramouche knows that he has lost earlier. That he has been the one who has suffered defeat.

"This time I am the one who will be victorious!"

So when Childe lashes out he quickly avoids the blows while electricity keeps crackling around him. To say Scaramouche is very profound with a sword, not really. Yet, he knows his moves and the sword-shaped mass of electricity he is summoning in one of his hand is perfectly capable of fending off Childe's hydro blades.

"I wouldn't be so confident, hahaha! I took you down once, and I'll do it again...!"

The weapon that Scaramouche summons is no doubt a manifestation of his abilities as a divine instrument of the Electro Archon, but that doesn't matter to him in the slightest. It could be any element, it could of been something from the depths of the Abyss and he'd still meet it with glee as his swords clash with his. Hydro and Electro sizzle and crackle all around the two, but it doesn't deter the Harbinger in the slightest. If anything, the sounds of battle only serve to excite him more, Childe's eyes gleaming with bloodlust as his attacks continue.

"Don't tell me this is the extent of your power. I'm not even using my full strength here. You shouldn't of taken me on so soon."

His attacks are fluid like the water he commands, his weapons changing from blades to his polearm and back, coming at his opponent with all he's got. His mind is totally focused on Scaramouche and the battle they're having, the rest of the world melting away and not mattering to him at all. This is what he lives for, this is what he'll die doing if he can help it.

If Scaramouche were a sane person, he would admit that Childe was a formidable opponent. In fact, he'd even tell him. Yet, he has never been sane. The more the anger festered inside of him, the crazier he became. And even now, now he had this odd second chance, now he is without that gnosis he holds so dear, it is all he can focus on.

Anger, this urge to destroy, this hunger to make someone suffer.

"Transform. Now let me see your true form. The one they fear so much."

Normally Scaramouche would have been speaking loudly but this time Childe can hear the words buzzing in his mind. If he would fail to defeat the other, it would at least mean an end to all of this.

And while convincing the other to use more strength he easily hops around, avoiding those attacks with more and more ease.

"This is barely a challenge."

He's so focused on their fight that at first, he doesn't recognize that the words from Scaramouche aren't coming from his mouth, but rather directly to his mind. His eyes widen with delight, the smile on his face wider and more unhinged. He's asking for him to really, truly go all out- and there's nothing he'd like to do more than to grant this wish for his companion.

"So you're ready to be defeated so soon? Alright. I won't keep you waiting."

Skidding to a stop as he puts some distance between himself and Scaramouche, Childe begins his transformation without hesitation. Electricity and water spike outwards and splash around him, the power from beyond the stars swirling around him as it shakes the very foundation of the ground beneath their feet.

The dark armor, the Demon King's Armament begins to clasp itself to his arms and legs, changing his body to something a little less human, power surging outwards that threatens to knock over lesser beings. As it completes, a surge of dark energy radiates out from his core, bearing the weapon that showcases the very stars that circle Teyvat- and he stands up to his full height, staring down at his opponent.

D̝͇̻o̝͙̪n̢̝͉'͎͜t̞̼̝ d͉̟͖i̺̟̘s̫͕̼a̠͙͙p̢͖͉p͙̙͜o̦͎i̟͇͕n͎͍̘t̟̻ m̢̞̝e̞̪̦.̪̙̻

Edited (i messed up loool) 2023-12-01 00:24 (UTC)

Oh, this idiot is so reckless. So willing to destroy himself for the sake of battle and, in some strange, small corner in his mind, Scaramouche can appreciate that. Didn't he himself destroyed himself because he wanted to become a god? And still...whatever stood above godhood, listened and granted him this second chance.

And what is better than to face the biggest worm on the surface of this realm head on? Scaramouche watched the transformation with a somewhat deranged look on his face. As if it is the most amusing thing he has ever seen.

"Just keep it up."

Something inside of him starts to whirr, as if it knows that the stakes are a bit bigger now. Now Scaramouche knows he isn't into battle like Childe is. It doesn't fuel him, it doesn't serve as a purpose. It is a mere part of what he used to do. Just like killing. Just like retrieving something from somewhere.

But now he has to keep up. Now he has to pay attention. And he chuckles briefly before he disappears into a purple flash, focusing every bit of his being on that new strength.

A low, deep rumble of a laugh that sounds more alien than human comes from Childe's form, quiet and wicked. He knows he'll enjoy every second of the fight, now that the gloves are off and he's ready to throw himself completely into the fire of battle. No matter what feelings he has, no matter their allegiance, all of it falls to the wayside as he meets Scaramouche head on as he launches his attack, feeling more alive than he has in days since their last clash underneath Sumeru City.

His blades sing and whistle through the air as they fight, letting loose mixed elemental attacks whenever he sees an opening or opportunity, and getting hit in return when the other finds that Childe's momentarily let himself open for a strike. But all of it is just a part of the fight, and no matter how much he hits or gets hit, he loves it.

"A̟͇͙t͉̠̺ l̡͉͉e̡͓̙a̢̙͕s̟̻͜t̞̦͓ y̙͇̻o̡̪̦u̻̫̻'͙̞̝r̠̞e̡̡͕ p̢͉̠r̘͔͇o̠̙̘v͎͚͕i̻̼̺n̠̦͜g̺͚͉ t̺͚̪o͓͇͔ b̫͓̫e̠̼̠ f̢̠͙a̡̦̻r̡͓̞ m͚͓͜o̢͚͚r̦͙͖e̢͙͓ e̡͓͇n̻͎̫t̠͉̻e̡͓̞r̝͉̘t̫͍a͍̼͜i̦̘n̢̞i̞̞͔n̞͚̪g̡̻ t͙͉̟h͓̺͜a͚͔͎n̦̪͉ t͔͎̼h̻̫͉o̟̺͚s̺̞̦e͉̫͔ p̢͔͙a̢͙̺t͓̺̞h̡̻͙e̢̠t͎̠͙i̢͕͓c̞͙͉ m̡̫̫a͓͓͚g͉͜e̢͇s͇̻̟ o̡͔͕f̪͇͔ t̺͕͙h͔̠e̡̼͔ a͕̞͓b̙̝̟y͕̻͎s͉̫̺s͍͉͎-͕͖̝!̢̞̻"

What should have been a little skirmish between a Harbinger and a former Harbinger is slowly changing into something bigger. Something that makes the earth rumble and something that causes trees to give in. The strength they possess is in no way human.

Childe's words make Scaramouche laugh. And, truly, there is nothing sane about the laugh that comes from his mouth. All he can think of is a sweetest sort of revenge. And it fuels him more than anything has ever done before. Oh, how could he forget how overwhelming anger could be, what an amazing weapon.

"That is not how you talk to me." The tone of his voice is a completely unhinged. "Worms belong on the ground. Squirming helplessly, praying their god will know mercy!"

Scaramouche can feel something building up inside of him. Something great, something that is worthy of his godly status. Something meant to destroy.

All Childe has to do is parring his blows. It would only be a matter of time until he will be close enough. Then this unsightly creature will know the true wrath of a god.

It doesn't make a single difference to him how Scaramouche is taking this battle, as long as he fights with all his might. There isn't a single thing that could deter Childe now from cutting him down here, and once he does, he'll repair him again and they can go at it as many times as they see fit. He sees now why Dottore liked Scaramouche so much, you can do anything to him, absolutely anything, and he can come back just like that with a little proper care. It was never his intention for it to be this way, however, but as locked in a battle as they are now, this seems like the likely ending as far as he's concerned.

"W͓̙̙h͉̝͓a͓̘t̡̼̫ g͖̺͉o̡̦̻d͔̼̘?͍̠̻ I̪͖͜ s̢͉̙e̘̟͕e͓̙͕ n͚͔̙o̡̠͖ g̻͚͉o͎͎͇d͚͖̠ h̫̪͉e͉͇̫r̫̟e͎̝.̺̞͕ O͉͕̫n̺̘̫l̦̞y̡̻̝ a̢̫͉ f̙̺̻a͎͖l͉͙̝l̦͖e͇̺n̠̞͍ i̘͎̘d͚̪͖o̞͖̠l̦͖̫ w̟̟h̝͕o̡̺͖ n̡̢̙e͙̻͜v̘̝͜e̝̫͖r͇͔͜ h͚͇̙a̙̠͖d͕̠ a̘̪̘ s͓̻̪h̝͍̫r̡͇e͓̟̝d͖͙̞ o͕͇͙f̢̢͓ t͉͉͜r̢̝̺u̙͕̺e͕̻͜ p̪͚͔o͉͚̪w̘͜e̫̦͎r̫̙̠ t͇̟̞o̢͓͖ b̫̻̝e̙̻͚g̪͍̠i̼͍͇n̦̞̫ w̦͍̝i̙͕͜t̼̪͜h̢̟͇!̢̻͜"

Tartaglia's attacks are unrelenting, he won't give the puppet even an inch in this fight. He can't, because if he does, he loses and it may even mean the end of his life. But he made a promise, to his family and to the traveler that he'd do everything he could to stay alive. And he won't fall to this either, not if he's still moving and breathing.

In a way he starts to understand now. What it means to lose yourself in a battle, to balance right between victory or defeat and the thrill that comes with it. If he had a heart he's sure it would be beating fast. And this foolish human, this absolute idiot, the lowest of worms doesn't give in. Not an inch.

Would Childe notice how the sky turns dark? Would he hear the sound of thunder rolling through thick clouds?

"You're wrong, filthy insect."

Suddenly everything inside of him comes to a halt and really, there's no sanity left inside of Scaramouche's head that could keep him from doing this. All there is, is an urge to destroy and to assure that this insolent little worm will know his place. He has stopped blocking Childe's attacks, his body has made it quite clear it doesn't need protection anymore. Divinity will be its shield now.

And then lightning strikes around them. The sheer force of them make the ground shake. The second Childe attacks again, Scaramouche unleashes all that has been building up inside of him. Something ancient, something that doesn't belong to a world inhabited by fragile humans.

"Behold!" Scaramouche shouts before he starts to laugh. "This is what happens to those who defy a god!"

Edited (its done now) 2024-01-09 09:50 (UTC)

The sudden change in weather doesn't go unnoticed by Childe, and yet there's nothing he can do to stop it. All he can do is continue his fight, launching devastating blow after devastating blow at Scaramouche. He doesn't like how this is going, how his opponent isn't even trying to block his attacks. His celestial blade leaves deep cuts on the mechanical body of the former Harbinger, his abyssal energy that comes from beyond this world not enough to keep whatever is happening from occurring. It's like the whole world is starting to fall apart, and Childe goes in for one last strike that will hopefully quell the lightning that streaks down from the sky nearby with a deafening clap.

And from that last strike, Scaramouche catches him, a power he hadn't seen before nor knew he even had emerging from his body, like a laser that strikes him hard and cuts through his dark armor, sending him flying. Everything goes sideways, his body limp as it flies through the air, slamming into the ground to send chunks of earth flying every which way. Childe isn't sure when he stops, the pain radiating through his body almost seems to numb him. He can't move a muscle, barely has the strength to groan, and isn't even sure how long he's been on the ground when he comes back to his senses.

The fallen Harbinger blearily looks around for his opponent, alarm bells ringing in his head that this could be it if he doesn't move, but he can't. Whatever hit him wrecked his body, and he's having a hard time focusing, looking all around for Scaramouche and where he is...

The strength that surges through him is something else. Something mere humans cannot comprehend. Something all-consuming and all-powerful. So very fitting for the god he really is. Yet, after unleashing it, Scaramouche is very aware of how it wrecks his body. How nerve endings burn and wires snap.

So the second he manages to send Childe backwards he has no time to finish the job. Even though every part of his being wants to stomp Childe's stupid head into the ground until there would nothing left but mush, Scaramouche slumps against a nearby tree.

Of course, Scaramouche keeps a close eye on Childe and eventually he finds himself convinced that the other is dead. Slowly he moves to stand on his feet, unaware of the the fact that an obvious crack has appeared on his face, running from his brow, to his cheek and down his neck.

"I have had worse."

And then he notices that Childe seems to be alive. The movements are small but visible.

'Oh? You still live, worm?

Scaramouche isn't speaking this time but Childe should hear the words.

'What does it take to kill you?'

Through his bleary eyes, he can see movement from a tree, when his vision begins to focus. The lean stature of Scaramouche stands before him, a little ways off but too close for comfort. He's a sitting duck, he can't move a single muscle in his body. And to make matters worse, his opponent is still able to speak, where his mind is a muddied mess. The words enter into his mind, and all Childe is able to do is groan in response.

'I...have to...get up...'

It's the only thoughts Childe is able to have, ones that Scaramouche can hear, trying desperately again to move and failing. If he can't get up soon, who knows what will happen to him. Blood obscures his vision as it drips down into his eyes beneath the mask of the Foul Legacy Transformation, and panic sets in his chest that he desperately tries to fight down.

'Got to...move...'

'So desperate'

Scaramouche comes closer and, to be fair, there's not one single thought inside his head that is a sane one. There's just an immense urge to be the absolute awful person he can be.

'Is that panic?'

Now he did not expect that Childe could be like this. From what he knows, the 11th is quite fearless. Stupid, rash and absolutely not afraid to die. Well, it seems he was wrong.

"Beg, little insect. If you wish to live I want to see you grovel."

The words ring in his head, sounding like a predator zeroing in on their prey. The panic in his chest rises a little more at being called out so blatantly. He's promised to do everything he can to keep himself alive, to see his family. To see the Traveler. To keep them in his sight and him in theirs.

And yet, he can't move.

"͍̫͍N̫͙̞e͇͔̠v̙̘͉.͕͖.̡̻͙e̦̟͓r͙͎͇.̠̫̝"͙͔̦

The wracking cough that comes out from his response is filled with blood, looking up defiantly at his opponent despite how much panic he feels.

"̼͔͍T̝̠̙h̪̼̼i̡͉̠s̙̙̟.̞͔͍.͖̞̼.̘͔̠i͙͕͖s͇̞͕.͙̦͙.̡͓̺.̪͜n͕͓͕'̠͍͇t̢̠͕ o̢̝̦v͔̝͙e̙͇͓r̙͎͙.͍͕͇"̝̘

Edited 2024-03-12 17:08 (UTC)

There's so much panic. And yet, so much resistance as well. This is the type of idiot who would never accept death. And really, Scaramouche can't help basking in it. The sweetest victory there is.

"It is."

Scaramouche moves slowly, ignoring the damage done to his own body. He has had worse. After all, the Doctor has never been particularly gentle and well, when chasing strength there are sacrifices that need to be made. All in all, a fair exchange.

For a moment Childe can hear nothing. No voice in his head, no footsteps. Until there is a certain weight settling on top of him and if he might look up he is looking straight at Scaramouche's face, hovering close to his.

"I could end your suffering. Swift and painless. After all, you did put up a good fight." But there's so much panic inside the other. "But there are some things I want to find out first."

Truly, there is nothing on Scaramouche's face that looks sane. De grin around his lips is absolutely malicious and anyone can see he's getting so much pleasure out of this. Slowly he reaches out, removing some of Childe's armor as if he has all the time in the world. And then he slides his hands around the other's neck, squeezing slightly.

And there's one word Childe might hear, ringing inside his head.

"Beg"

Tartaglia's vision blurs, recedes and comes back again. He's losing blood somewhere, maybe internally, maybe not...either way, it's not good. The silence is eerie, like a haunted house with no creaking or wind outside to accompany it. It makes his blood chill when he realizes he doesn't know where Scaramouche is until he's on top of him, looking up to meet the face of his opponent.

There's nothing but malice in that stare, and he wonders what plans the puppet has in mind for him. Whatever it is, it's probably going to hurt, and he watches helplessly as some of his armor falls to the ground. Would he try to see how many stab wounds it would take to kill him? Or worse? But instead, Scaramouche's hands slip up under his mask and wrap around his throat, squeezing hard.

The Harbinger feels his air become completely cutoff, lungs burning desperately for air, his whole body screaming at him to breathe. Childe fights hard to lift his hands to try to remove Scaramouche's hands from his neck, but the blast had hit him so hard he can barely move them an inch. His body writhes under the pressure of not breathing, but his mind holds, defiant in his thoughts.

'No.'

But even so, even that begins to weaken, the need to breathe overriding everything else.

'Let go of me...'

His own family flashes through his mind, his goals, his dreams...

Scaramouche can see them. Faces of people with exactly the same haircolor as Childe has, the same blue eyes. There are vague scenes of fights, of dreams, perhaps. Truly, the Eleventh Harbinger could be whatever fearsome on the battlefield, in the end he was nothing more than a squishy, fragile human, acting after what hides in his heart.

"Are you sure?"

He starts to squeeze the other's neck in earnest now, nails digging into his skin.

"I can see what is in your heart. Answer carefully, worm."

There's no letting up from his opponent at all. Even the thoughts of his family running through his head get fuzzy before they dissipate entirely, due to the lack of oxygen. He can feel his consciousness dip in and out, fighting to stay awake, but unable to do much of anything about it other than stare defiantly back up at Scaramouche.

"̫̠̦N̢̢̺.͚͙͙.͍͔̻.̠̘̦.͔͉͕"̡̦̦

'Never...'

To beg is dishonorable, dying in battle would be the death he'd want. Begging for his life is out of the question, and these morals are clear through his demeanor and mind as he refuses to give Scaramouche what he wants. He would like to see him beg for mercy, but until his eyes shut and never open again, there's a chance he could live, or die a way a warrior should.

'Make me...'

'There is barely any life in you left.'

Really, Scaramouche could end everything in the blink of an eye. But, alas, he isn't forgiving and he isn't kind either. He knows very well what he has become and, to be fair, he likes to bask in it. What is a mere human in the eye of a god? Nothing but disposable garbage. Fragile and useless.

Slowly he moves back, letting go of the other Harbinger's throat in the process. For a moment he stays silent, his hands resting on Childe's chest while the look on his face is perfectly neutral. He tilts his head a little when he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. It sounds like a reassurance of some sort. Permission, maybe.

"Let me see your face."

Without any further ado he hooks his fingers around Childe's mask and slowly lifts it. Because there is something there inside of the other. Hidden deep. He wants to uncover it, see what it is.

'If that is the choice you wish to make... Worry not, I can be quite a benevolent god.'

Scaramouche wonders if Childe can feel it. A certain pressure, a sweet, reassuring whisper that there might be some blood. And really Childe free to wrap his own hands around his throat.

Much to his surprise, Scaramouche lets go of his throat, and the moment he does Childe sucks in air to keep himself from passing out and dying. It's beautiful, life-giving oxygen, and he gasps helplessly for it, filling his lungs once more. The pain of not breathing was worse than the rest of the pain radiating through his body, since at least he can live for a few moments longer.

Unable to resist, he can only look up to see his opponent studying him, lifting his mask, wanting to see his face. Lifting the mask reveals the blood that's spilled all over him, staining his skin red and dripping down over one eye. There's agony written all over his features, yet somehow managing to stay awake and in control of his transformation.

As he stares upward, something in his mind shifts, something that falls in line with those last words.

'I can be quite a benevolent god.'

It soothes him and takes him by the hand, opens up the hidden corners of his heart and mind, beckons him closer. And in his state, Childe isn't able to resist it, gazing upwards at the god in front of him that's giving him the chance to take one last life.

Before he knows it, somehow, his own hands wrap around his own throat, choking himself with as much strength as he can muster. He neither knows how he's able to even lift his arms up to do so, or how he's able to find any strength to squeeze his own life out of him, but none of that matters underneath the benevolent gaze of his new god.

As the lack of oxygen begins to make his mind muddled and confused, there's one thing that floats to the surface underneath the power and control that Scaramouche has been searching for since he woke from the battle between the two men- a strong feeling of love and admiration that exudes from the Eleventh Harbinger that was hiding previously. It's not a warmth that formed as a result of the mind control that's gotten him to want to take his own life, but one that's been there the entire time. How Childe appreciates that Scaramouche has never been like the other Harbingers, straightforward and to the point, unafraid to step out from the shadows unlike some of the other Harbingers. There's admiration for his strength too, Childe always wanting to challenge himself against him. And though Childe finds him rough around the edges and hard to get along with, there's still these amorous feelings that show themselves fully now as life depletes from his wrecked body, looking happy to take his own life for Scaramouche in his weakened state.

At least he was able to save him from being destroyed when he took the gnosis from him and sent it back to Snezhnaya. At least he was able to do that much. But now he'll gladly die, if this is what his Lord wants...

Watching the other makes him realize even more that he is completely above humanity. That he truly is a god, a being superior to them, a being who isn't fragile, who doesn't bleed. But still, there is something quite interesting about the sight of Childe's face when that mask comes off. He's suffering. In pain.

'Death would be so sweet, don't you think?'

Scaramouche leans in closer, eyes widened with the hint of a smile around his lips. And then his hands come up, sliding up his throat briefly before those fingers do as his god has commanded them to do. Squeeze.

'Do it for me...'

And really, he would have watched all up to the point where that life, all that strength would wither and die. Because, in the end, humans are simple, fragile bags of flesh. Everything seems to end as it should end. At least, until Scaramouche picks up something else. Perhaps it was what he was looking for, the part he wanted to uncover. It was something that felt like a smouldering fire. Warm and cozy, intimate and somewhat tingly.

Is it...?

'Idiot.'

The word would echo through Childe's mind and perhaps the urge to squeeze his throat shut could lessen. Maybe Childe just wanted to live. Maybe, his god would allow him to live. Maybe said god has missed such things since they reminded him of a sweeter time. A time before betrayal and anger.

He squeezes his throat with a renewed strength that only a god, his god can give him.

He can feel his consciousness slip away as his oxygen is depleted, smiling as he silently agrees with Scaramouche's statement. Yes, death is sweet, especially when commanded by this divine being that he's so lucky to be able to interact with directly. So few mortals ever get the chance to be so intimately connected with a god, and Childe is one of the few that's been able to serve not one, but two gods now. He knows he's about to pass out, barely able to keep his eyes open before a harsh insult is thrown his way.

It rips through his mind, making the urge to end his life lessen, confused. Did he offend Lord Scaramouche...? What is it that's made him go back on his own will? He looks up in anguish at possibly doing something to fail him...

'Lord...?'

Still incapable of having the energy to speak on his own, the thought comes though, asking. What's wrong? How could he possibly make it up to him?

Scaramouche sits back a little, gazing at him with a look on his face that is right between annoyance, confusion and amazement. And after a short moment of silence he finally speaks again, using his voice this time.

"Why did you fix me after our fight? Tell me the true reason."

He has to know if Childe is that much of a weird idiot. He has to know if that warmth is meant for him and him alone.

"Tell me what it is. What is in your heart."

Still under the influence of his divine will, even though the words aren't being delivered by telepathy, he's still unable to resist the control that Scaramouche has over his mind. Childe's hands finally drop from his own throat as life-giving oxygen refills his lungs, sucking in as much air as he can before coughing violently as he hacks blood up onto the ground. He's been commanded to answer this question, and he's struggling to answer, but he must, he has to tell him the truth.

The truth he'd buried deep in his heart, locked away for fear of rejection, something he told himself he never needed to be reciprocated...

"I...couldn't...bear to leave you."

The words are heavy and laden with the weight of his body still on the brink of death, but he answers, finally.

"I've always...admired you...loved you from a distance. ...I could never...tell you."

Childe seems apologetic in his admission to his new Lord, ready for retribution from the divine God in his presence. His heart burns with embarrassment and fear, because now he's sure he'll be rejected and laughed at, a lowly mortal who's not worthy of his god.

"...Sorry. I had to...obey the Tsaritsa's orders."

Scaramouche knows he can be vile and cruel. He also knows he is bad at controlling the anger inside of him. But he also knows he's meant to be a god and he's quite sure he is able to be a benevolent one. Even to fragile little humans who are so reliant on oxygen as this one.

"Tch." He crosses his arms. "You are in no way suitable to be a Harbinger."

Still, he would be quite a terrible god to turn away his first follower like that. Even when that follower admits to quite foolish things. Scaramouche could punish him for that, to take such heavy words in his mouth, to let such feelings live inside his heart.

"How human of you." Slowly he moves to reach out and when he touches Childe's cheek the touch is almost kind. "How your heart must have ached..." Then he cackles softly. "Would you betray your beloved Tsaritsa for me? Is that love of yours rooted this deep? Or is it a mere lie?"

IT IS MY NO. 1 DREAM /WHIPS OUT THE SILLY ICONS AND SILLY POWERS

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He's gonna fire his lazer :o)

lazermouche

scarabeam activated

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I AM SORRY FOR WHAT HE IS GOING TO DO

haha MOUCHIE UR SO MEAN

YES HE IS

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OKAY I HOPE I WRITE THIS RIGHT DFDF

I THINK I GOT IT let me know if I didn't hahaha

U GOT IT

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