Chapter Text
Grand azure comet
exploding in the night sky
and inside my heart
Blue plummets from the sky, and Kaedehara Kazuha momentarily sees red.
From Kazuha’s perspective, the world had slowed down just in time for him to catch every horrid detail of his partner's fall; a shot of pyro had connected with Wanderer’s chest. His blue eyes, usually so guarded in conversation and so overconfident in battle, had grown wide for a moment before they were darkened by black hair flying everywhere. What should’ve been a halo of anemo light controlling his flight was unceremoniously turned back into a common hat that couldn’t protect him nor keep him afloat anymore.
Objectively, though, this all happens in an instant, too fast for Kazuha to do anything but stare in horror, manage to detect the general direction of the forceful landing, and finally, the attacker:
The one responsible for this is the one Fatui Skirmisher that remains in the ruined camp-turned-battleground, his rifle’s barrel still smoking from the successful shot. The bastard doesn’t even have a reaction at finally striking down his target despite it having taken so long into the ambush. He doesn’t even take a moment of respite before he mechanically charges a new blast and aims in Kazuha’s direction, but the samurai is more than ready for it now that he has also identified him and the way his weapon works.
Usually, Kazuha’s coolheadedness and patience in battle rewards him with the precise moments to sidestep and find the opening to slash an opponent down, but that kind of calm and time to wait is nowhere to be found right now. Instead, fueled by anger and adrenaline, he forces his way towards his assailant with terrifying speed, his anemo enveloping him like a tunnel, protecting him from the fire before it even comes close to him; he then creates the opening to take his opponent down by plunging his sword into the gigantic rifle that stands between him and the mech suit of a man.
Right away, the hardware can’t hold its own against direct impact from a Vision holder’s enhanced weapon. The natural swirling reaction between the pyro and the anemo surrounding them has made it easy for Kazuha’s sword to slash in and out of the rifle. The firearm crackles, sizzles and smokes from the clash, and the Skirmisher attempts a one-eyed glare at Kazuha for this—“attempt” being the keyword. The defiant expression melts into surprise as soon as the man actually sees Kazuha’s unnaturally grim face.
“Leave right now,” Kazuha warns, slow and venomous, “or the same will happen to you.”
The rifle explodes on cue.
Kazuha and his opponent are pulled back in opposite directions by the sudden blast. The Skirmisher is the first one to recover from this, bloodlust in his eyes and ready to get back at the samurai for his patronizing threat, but he quickly realizes this is no advantage to him; his weapon—or the remains of it—, lay broken beyond repair on the ground, just as the rest of his team, scattered and incapacitated from the long fight. Some of them are probably dead.
After a silent assesment of his odds, the Skirmisher glares in Kazuha's direction. He bolts away from the scene right after.
Breathing fast, Kazuha watches him leave with a frown, not seeming to notice his own smoking wounds from the explosion. There’s much more he wishes to do to this man for his unforgivable actions, but he’s not far enough gone in his fury to forget that his priority at the moment isn’t to be deadly—it is to be fast. Brutality isn’t in his principles even with his blood boiling the way it is right now, after all.
After confirming the Skirmisher is too far to be an issue anymore, Kazuha quickly composes himself, puts his sword back into his scabbard and sprints deeper into the rainforest, where he thinks Wanderer has landed. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s headed, but now that the immediate problem at hand has been resolved, guilt and panic start overtaking his righteous anger with every inch he’s closer to finding out just how bad the damage of this confrontation was. The faint but alarming scent of burnt wood and the painful throbs of his heart guide him until he reaches his destination not too far into the woods of Gandha Hill:
Pressed against a tree and surrounded by worried, teary aranaras, the injured and unconscious Wanderer has never looked more human.