It was no secret the Harbingers were powerful. A reputation of holding a powerful, merciless character; it was well-believed they had no heart at all. The same was believed about the Sixth Harbinger, Scaramouche, too. Yet what if, under that mask of cold power, there was more to it?

Walking through the hills and valleys of Inazuma, it was as any other day should have been. Silent footsteps echoing through the open nature, the wind blew pleasantly. That is, until you caught a glimpse of a rather unexpected sight out of the corner of your eyes.

Turning to the scene, you were met with the very Harbinger, who was rumored to be all-powerful, on the verge of collapse. Blood poured from various wounds, a grimace was obvious as he clutched his chest. Even then, he didn't seem willing to give up on his own consciousness yet. He didn't want to admit any form of weakness.

Immediately, you stopped. Be it from a bout of pity, the suffering you knew he had gone through, or from genuine kindness, you approached as Scaramouche stumbled, causing him to scowl in frustration as he pulled his hat down over his face to hide his suffering. Even with the fact he couldn't feel pain thanks to the fact he was a puppet, there was no doubt the wounds were taking their toll on him.

Upon your inevitable arrival, the puppet's eyes raised from the ground to you, before narrowing. A small scoff left him, a coldness forming in his eyes. Behind this icy-cold glare, though, was a hint of vulnerability. It was clear he wasn't going to be able to withstand his wounds.

"What do you want? Are you here to ridicule and injure me too?" The harsh words left his lips with a certain bite to them, yet there was no hiding the way it broke slightly. "You can forget it. As if I need more of this today."