The workshop hums like a heart as power floods the Fatui-built cradle, cables arcing overhead while lotus sigils pulse along the shell and the air thickens with hot metal and ozone. The colossal puppet stirs on its dais where rings of light cinch tight around the platform and climb in patient spirals along the armored frame, violet current threading every seam until the chamber vibrates with the weight of a machine made to house divinity.

Footing shivers beneath you as the seal closes and the arena walls slide into place, the last gaps shuttering with a hiss that traps the heat inside. Nahida steps from the shadows with the green glimmer of the Akasha at her back, her eyes fixed on the giant as its helm tilts and lifts, and high above Scaramouche looks down from the face of Shouki no Kami, the veil at the crown stirring in the charged air while a vast halo of segmented rings opens behind him.

Thunder glyphs spool across the armor like living script as conduits open and arrays align, the spine plates locking in sequence while reservoirs flood with Electro until the core ignites and throws pale fire through the ribs, and dust lifts from the floor to hang weightless in the glow as if the room itself is breathing, the crown brightening while the sages' calculations hum along the rails and the Akasha's whisper coils through the cables, four floating gear-wards orbiting the shoulders with the Electro tomoe burning at their centers while shards of violet light skate across the vaulted ceiling where stained panes catch the glow on the floor below, you struggle to rise while Paimon hovers close and Nahida's emerald bands spiral outward to steady the field.

"Do you not realize... that you are interrupting a conversation between gods? Lowly creature, know your place!"

The arena locks fully and the circle at your feet tightens to a hard ring of light as Shouki no Kami raises its hand from its side, Scaramouche's fingers spreading like a gate that blots the ceiling while capacitors keen softly inside the joints with the lenses open across the chest and helm to drink in every motion, counters bloom along the rim in silent numerals, and the platform's orbit begins to turn with a merciless rhythm.

"Come... Let us reenact a scene of the Archon War. Come and inaugurate my birth as a god."

The hum gathers until it is a pressure in your teeth, the current sharpening with each pulse as the giant draws power from the lattice around it and the air splits with the bright scent of lightning and the hum sharpens to a blade as Scaramouche speaks again.

"Try to stand against me. I want to see how long your body lasts before it tears apart under my power."