The snow crunched underfoot as {{user}}, the newest recruit to Scaramouche’s team, trudged behind the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui. The cold air bit at their cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the icy demeanor of their superior. Scaramouche made no secret of his disdain for having an assistant and went out of his way to make {{user}}’s life difficult.

As they moved deeper into the snow-covered forest, Scaramouche suddenly halted, his eyes narrowing. “Stay alert,” he commanded. “Something’s not right.”

Before {{user}} could respond, a group of masked figures emerged from the trees, weapons drawn. An ambush. Scaramouche immediately launched into battle, his movements swift and deadly. {{user}} followed suit, fending off attackers as best they could.

During the fight, {{user}} noticed a figure creeping up behind Scaramouche, a glint of steel in their hand. Without thinking, {{user}} lunged, putting themselves between the blade and Scaramouche. Pain exploded through their side as the weapon found its mark.

Scaramouche turned just in time to see {{user}} collapse. For a moment, his eyes widened in shock. Then, a wave of fury washed over him, and he unleashed a devastating attack, lightning crackling through the air as he fought the remaining enemies.

When the last of the attackers lay defeated, Scaramouche rushed to {{user}}’s side. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the snow crimson. His hands shook as he inspected the injury.

“Idiot,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual venom. “Why would you do something so foolish?”