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"Witch."
"Harbinger."
She doesn't look at him as he comes to stand beside her.
"You're late."
"Am I?" She can hear him rolling his eyes in the tone of his voice. "I didn't realize you had scheduled an exact time for me to come kick your sorry ass."
Mona bristles. "Please. There are other things that would be a better use of my time. I don't want to waste a second more of it on you if I can help it."
"And yet, here you are. Waiting. Like a stupid teenage girl who got stood up."
"Shut up, scumbag, we're not here to talk," she snaps, rising to her feet and stalking past him. Still she does not look at him. His eyes follow her, a brand being etched onto her skin.
"Someone's extra bitchy. Maybe you'll actually land a hit on me today," he tsks, but settles into a fighting stance and waits. It's a blatant taunt. They both know she's made him bleed plenty of times, just as he's left marks on her. Scars from the Balladeer that she'll now carry with her forever.
Mona shakes her head and flexes her fingers, willing the subtle shaking to cease. That was such a melodramatic way to be thinking about the Harbinger, of all people. What's gotten into her?
She mirrors his stance, dropping into a crouch, but she feels off-balance, shaky. That doesn't spell well for her. Give the Harbinger an inch, and he'll take a mile. He will not hesitate to exploit any weakness she shows in order to gain an advantage over her.
No. She can't let that happen. Her pride as an astrologist is at stake.
"I'll have you eating your words, Fatui."
His grin is feral, sharp. The air around him buzzes with electricity, purple energy crackling around his form. Mona draws moisture from the air instinctually. His arms spread wide, his form flickering and disappearing. In the blink of an eye, he reappears right in front of her, an arc of lightning shooting straight towards her. Mona throws her hands up, and a wall of water shoots up to block the attack. The air itself singes upon impact, the water absorbing the lightning, but also retaining it. Sparks of electricity flicker perilously close to her face, making her skin tingle.
It was a challenge for a Hydro user such as herself to fight an Electro user. She could curse the fates for making her element the more vulnerable of the two, but Mona instead chooses to see it as an opportunity to learn, grow, become stronger. If she can hold her own against the Harbinger, then there are not many who can do her harm.
The blocked attack does not stop Scaramouche. The sound of his footsteps charging on the ground reaches Mona's ears over the rush of the water and lightning. She disperses her water wall into hundreds of droplets, sharpening them into deadly points, then sends them raining down on her opponent. With a lazy flick of his hand, lightning flashes in the air and incinerates the water, leaving steam in its wake.
Mona panics. If he gets his hands on her once, it's over. One jolt of electricity sent through her system and she'd go down. Her hand gropes for the spell-focus attached to her hip, a circular band, and she tosses it between her and Scaramouche. It hovers in the air, humming with elemental energy, before it breaks in two, and a kaleidoscope of water and stars flood the space. Twinkling stars shimmer around the Harbinger, then snap around his form like a rope, holding him suspended in midair.
She doesn't even get a moment of boasting. Before a smug smirk can grow on her lips, his fingers twitch and an arc of lightning shoots down from the digit, through the damp earth, and straight to her feet. The effect is instantaneous.
Bright, white pain scorches her body. Her nerves are burnt raw. Maybe he overdid it, or maybe he was finally done toying with her. But this attack of his hurt more than any she's suffered from him before. It seeps deeper than her clothes, into her skin, shaking her very bones. Her muscles clench and spasm. The air in her lungs escapes in a painful gasp, and she struggles to breathe as her throat seizes. She's choking on her own pain. The electricity snakes up her ribs, seeping in between each bone, and then it finds her heart.
Mona feels the last beat of her heart, a final, pitiful attempt at fighting back against the onslaught. But what is blood but the water of life? Her own body is weak against him, even in this.
Her vision flickers, allowing only glimpses of the still bound form of Scaramouche. It must be the haze of pain, but Mona thinks she sees a brief flash of something like concern across his face. His lips part and sound comes out—words, most likely—but all she can hear is the roar in her ears. He's likely gloating about his victory over her, anyway.
Mona's eyes roll back in her head, and she's lost to the world.
So this is my reckoning.
You.
All she knows is the dark. Pure, inky blackness. No light seeps through here, especially not the distant twinkling light of the stars. Perhaps this is the Abyss. Where else would be forsaken from the creation of the gods? This should frighten Mona, or at least unsettle her, but she feels neither of those things. In fact, she doesn't feel anything. Everything is dark. Empty. Weightless. Formless.
Nothing.
It's soothing. Freeing. There is nothing to worry about here, and isn't that a good thing? An eternity slumbering in the darkness is all there is to do, and it's right. Natural. This eternal slumber is taking her, wrapping her in its embrace, pulling her further and further down below. How much further can she go? Does it matter? This is her fate—
A harsh, bright, painful light slashes through the darkness, tearing it down with vengeance. Suddenly she feels again, and it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Why does it hurt? She doesn't want to feel, not if it's pain. She resists—or rather, falls into the cool, comforting embrace of the darkness, letting it pull her back from the painful light.
Another strike, this one stronger than the last. A white, all consuming light roars, burning away the dark. The pain surges through Mona, and she awakes.
She can feel the near-numbing tingling in her hands and feet, the rawness of her muscles, and a deep ache in her bones. But most of all, she can feel the weak, fluttering beat of her heart as it moves once more under the forceful prodding of the electricity crackling through her chest.
Her chest heaves in a strangled gasp, her throat raw and dry. It takes more strength than she feels she has at this moment to open her eyes, but somehow Mona manages it. She squints, adjusting to the light of day. Her head aches, everything aches, but she needs to gather her bearings.
Beyond all the aches and pains of her body, Mona can tell that she is lying on the ground, the damp grass seeping moisture into her leotard and tights. Where is her hat? She doesn't feel it on her head. Something resembling a groan escapes her mouth as she attempts to turn her head and look—somewhere—for the item, but a shadow looms over her.
"Did it work?" she hears a gruff voice speak. It's familiar. She knows this voice, this person. Mona squeezes her eyes shut, then blinks them open, and her vision has cleared.
Staring down at her, eyes wide, furious, panicked, is Scaramouche. When her gaze meets his, finally clear and focused, a great tension leaves his body. He sighs, shoulders and head dropping in relief.
"W-what happened?" her voice cracks.
"Shut up, don't speak," he snaps at her. Mona can't even find the energy to be annoyed at his tone. "You need help. Are you really that fucking stupid?" His head shoots back up, and this time he is glaring at her. This feels more normal than he earlier look of concern. This she knows how to deal with. "Why are you fighting a Harbinger if you know I can ki—defeat you?"
A cold awareness settles over Mona. Her mind supplies the last moments before her—fall. Her spar with Scaramouche, the lightning that seared through her body, the darkness that rose up to meet her.
So it finally happened. It was only a matter of time, she knew. Their fights always dangerously toed the line between spar and actual battle. This was part of the thrill, the excitement—the uncertainty of whether a lethal blow would be struck and end their tenuous partnership once and for all.
Absurdly, Mona feels disappointment and shame. She said it the first time they met—he may be stronger than her by a hair's breadth, but Mona truly believed she could hold her own against him. And she had.
Until now.
"You got lucky," Mona says. Her breathing is still shallow, and her limbs feel heavy as stone. She tries for a deeper breath, but her ribs cry out in protest. Mona winces. "What did you do to me? I mean—after."
Scaramouche is silent for a long moment. The wide brim of his hat covers the both of them from the sun's rays, and Mona is grateful. She feels she may burn if in direct sunlight. He's not touching her, but his hands are less than an inch from her skin. His black-painted nails dig into the earth as he grits his teeth. His eyes are blue like a typhoon ready to destroy everything in its path. The Harbinger glares at something unseen before him.
"I electrocuted you. Both times. The first time I didn't—you were supposed to dodge it—why were you so fucking careless!" He still isn't looking at her. Mona feels her throat close up, and she continues to watch and listen to him, silent.
"The second time, it was different. I gave localized shocks to your heart to get it beating again. It took a few times, but it worked. Eventually."
Her eyebrows shoot up. It made sense. The body's nerve endings communicated via electric pulses sent from the brain. Why shouldn't a strong enough shock get the heart beating once more? It was an incredibly smart move.
"Where did you get that idea? What if it didn't work?"
"It might not have, but I know it's worked before."
"How?"
His eyes meet hers. "It's how they brought me to life."
Mona wonders if she's been electrocuted again, because all the air leaves her lungs and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Scaramouche's eyes fall to her chest, and one hand comes up hestitantly, hovering over her skin. He doesn't touch her. She follows his gaze, and gasps.
The exposed skin on her chest is red and scorched, angry lines branching out from her heart across her torso, down to her ribs, reahcing up to her neck. The marks are raised, raw, and will undoubtedly scar.
Scaramouche's hand traces over the lines, not quite touching, but Mona feels the heat from his hand all the same. She imagines they must be similarly scorched and burned from the continued use of electro.
"Do you," she swallows, "Do you have the same marks?"
He nods, and grabs her hand, bringing it up to his chest. Even through the fabric of their clothes she can feel the raised bumps on his skin.
"Thank you," Mona says.
"What for?"
"You know what for, Scaramouche."
Scaramouche doesn't apologize. Mona doesn't think he is capable of it, and honestly, she doesn't want one from him. She can tell from the heavy, shadowed, angry look on his face that he hates himself more than she ever could. He still holds her hand up to his chest.
"I thought you wanted to defeat me, anyway."
"Not like this," he bites out, quick and deadly as the lightning that took her life, and brought her back. "Not in some fluke. When I take you down, mage, it's going to be intentional. I'll be looking you in the eyes as you fall."
Mona smiles at him, flattening her hand over his heart, digging her nails into his skin. She can feel the beat, beat, beat of it against her palm. If lightning is what brought him to life, and gave back hers, do their hearts now beat on the same rhythm? It's a strangely comforting thought, despite the gravity of the situation.
If Scaramouche kills her, will he die too? Perhaps that is what he's counting on.
"As long as you stay with me until the end."
His hand squeezes her in a vice-like grip.
"Until the end."