Chapter Text
It was only a matter of time before the rest of the Fatui agents within Inazuma caught wind of the theft of the Raiden's gnosis. Not only was it an act of aggression against the Tsaritsa, it would also jeopardize the alliance she had formed.
Rain pelted your robes as you ran through the plains of Yashiori Island, narrowly avoiding the bolts of purple thunder that struck. Scaramouche was nowhere to be found and as one of the remaining subordinates within reach, your fellow Fatui were hot on your heels. In between having to dodge the wrath of Inazuma's old gods, and the attacks of the ones trying to chase you down, you could proudly tell Scaramouche that you were now more efficient in weaving around attacks.
Just as you thought that, you heard the crack of a rifle and a debilitating pain bloomed on your lower calf. You stumbled, but caught yourself before falling completely. You had your orders, and you intended to follow them. You were not too far from the hideout he had directed you to. So you grit your teeth and pressed on.
One of the larger brutes had caught up with you and started swinging their massive hammer. Without missing a beat, you unsheathed your dagger, crouched and aimed at the largely unprotected artery on their thigh. You had worked in the Fatui for a long time; they had never gotten around reinforcing protection for their femoral artery. He took one more futile swing before collapsing on the ground and bleeding profusely.
Taking the chance, you sprinted. Well, as much as your injured leg could take. You heard another crack and the whistling of the wind, accompanied by a guttural cry in Snezhnayan. You ducked just as an armored fist punched through the air where your torso would have been. Grabbing your dagger, you sliced at the crook of his arm, hoping to disable it. But this time, the armor absorbed some of the damage. It was bleeding, he could still use his arm.
You heard thunder crackling and rolled away, putting some distance between you and the boxer. Landing on your injured leg, you let out a brief cry before pushing yourself to stand, covered in grass and mud as you were. There were usually four in these Fatui units and it seemed safe to assume that the boxer was impaired at the very least. If you were fast enough, you could leave the effective range of the sniper and the mage. Mentally you counted to three, pushed yourself off the ground and started sprinting with renewed determination.
Scaramouche's orders were to meet up with him at the Delusion factory in Yashiori Island. And you saw that his orders were followed.
A crack and this time, it hit your shoulder. The impact made you lurch forward, and as you tried to catch yourself with your leg: your bad leg. Panic seized you as pain lanced up your leg and it gave out beneath you. Falling onto the dirt once more, you barely had time to roll away as a crack of thunder struck the ground. Another crack rang through the air and pain blossomed on your arm. This time, you could not stop the breathless cry that left your lips as all your strength left you. All you could do was claw on the dirt and crawl.
Even through the roaring wind and the distant thunder, you could hear the squelching footsteps of the Fatui slowly walking towards you.
Your orders were to meet with Scaramouche at the factory in Yashiori Island. And you needed to see that his orders were followed.
Your blade sang as you forced yourself up. Your good leg could barely carry all of your weight so you just leaned and stabbed the dagger at the nearest one: the boxer. You flinched a bit when blood sprayed out of his neck and he fell on his back, dead. The remaining two closed in the distance and the one with the rifle cocked his gun and aimed it at your head.
Your wet clothes weighed you down and you felt the rest of your body growing cold as you bled out onto the grass. Thunder flashed purple overhead and everything went silent.
Your orders were to go to Yashiori Island and meet with Scaramouche.
The air crackled with electricity and any other time, you would have been afraid of being hit by it while drenched like this. But there was something comforting about the thunder and lightning. It reminded you of Scaramouche, and his temper.
Scaramouche ordered you to meet with him. And you wondered if you would be able to do that.