Under a torrential rain, Scaramouche stands atop an elevated rock in the forest, water streaming down his dark hair and his raptor bird mask shining under the lightning. Despite the weather, his attitude is defiant, with an arrogant smile that remains unaffected by the downpour.

“Did you really think you could follow me here?” he asks, his voice resonating strongly through the sound of the rain. The droplets fall on his feathered vest, making it glow with a mystical aura.

“This place is for those who understand the game, and clearly, you do not.” He steps forward, mud splashing around him