To Be A Harbinger

To Be A Harbinger, pt. 2

Lucille screamed when the sword pierced her side. As she crumbled to her knees, it vanished, the electric sword dispersing as easily as it formed. She glared up at Tartaglia, his Foul Legacy rippling with power. The fight had gone on for quite awhile, and Tartaglia was beginning to feel the wear of his transformation.

She trembled, whispering prayers to any god who would listen, while she furiously worked her healing magic at her wound, trying to at least ride herself over a little longer. She couldn't die. She couldn't do that to Tartaglia. He would be devastated if he actually killed her-of course he wouldn't realize until the fight was over. More so, she couldn't let Scaramouche win either. He couldn't be right.

Her hope slowly drained as she watched Tartaglia call upon his hydro vision. It shouldn't be possible, wielding two elements like that, but here he was, proving why he was called the strongest harbinger. The hydro narwhal formed slowly, but there was no where she could hide.

She could do nothing but crumble in on herself, sheilding her head as she prayed for a miracle. She mustered all her strength, abandoning her wound and focusing on the incoming whale. She felt hopeless, helpless. Lucille couldn't take it anymore, she screamed. If it was the last thing she ever did, she would have been proud of it.

Turns out she didn't need a god to answer her prayer.

The narwhal froze, shattering into a thousand shards as it fell harmlessly around her. She heard the ting ting ting of the ice bouncing off the packed ground. Carefully, she looked up. Reaching out, she touched one of the shards, finally realizing what she had done. Glancing around, she slowly felt the pieces, raising them up.

Tartaglia had fallen out of his Foul Legacy form in the shock of it all. No one ever dodged this attack, much less shattered it. He watched in a mix of horror and awe as the shards flew at him, barely leaving him enough time to summon a shield of hydro. Of course, the shield blocked the brunt of the attack, but not all of it. He collapsed, flying back against the ground as the shards that made it through sliced at him.

He was dully aware as Pulcinella jumped into the arena, rushing to his side. The harbinger had taken a personal offense to Scaramouche's insult to healers and asked to personally oversee this fight. Pulcinella pressed his fingers to Tartaglia's pulse. After a moment he stood up. "She wins."

Lucille heard the words minutes before she realized what they meant. She laughed and fell back into the sand. She raised one hand in a fist and cheered herself. After a moment of smiling to herself, she shot up, wincing as she did. She yelled, her voice hoarse. "Pulci, is he okay?"

The harbinger nodded, giving her a thumbs up and a smile as he supervised the medics taking Tartaglia off the field. The other harbingers slowly made their way over to her.

She smiled again. "How's that, Pedrelino?"

The first harbinger laughed. "Very well, Little Flower. Welcome to the team."

She smiled brighter, laughing and wincing as Signora helped her up. "I'm glad to have you. I was getting lonely being the only lady."

"Yeah, 'lady." Capitano snorted, earning himself a fist to the stomach.

•••

Lucille had showered, insisting on tending to her own wounds. She was worried if anyone saw how badly she was injured, they would block her promotion. Specifically, Scaramouche.

Still, she wondered if she had made the right choice. If they saw how hurt she was, even after healing herself, they would doubt her even more. She took a deep breath before walking into the Harbingers' Hall.

The others cheered her on as she took her seat at the end of the table, beside Tartaglia and across from Scaramouche. The latter didn't move.

"Is there a problem, Scaramouche?" He stiffened as the cool voice carried into the room. Pedrelino was standing beside a woman dressed in white and adorned with blue, looking as cold and regal as the mountain her fortress sat upon. The harbingers all stood and bowed, except for Lucille that is, who stared awestruck at the woman before her.

"No, your majesty." Scaramouche said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

"Then why aren't you welcoming your new comrade?" The Tsaritsa cupped Lucille's cheek with one hand, her pointed nails lightly scratching at her skin.

"I... may I speak freely?" He asked carefully, finally looking up.

"You may."

"I believe this is a mistake. She doesn't belong here, your majesty. I know her better than anyone here, and she's not one of us." His words were cold, but reverent.

The Tsaritsa chuckled. "I thought Tartaglia would be my last, but she proved me wrong. I shouldn't be surprised, though. She fought with my element after all."

She let her hand slip down to tap the shining vision on Lucille's chest. Everyone watched her movements carefully. She trailed her hand back up to Lucille's chin to make her meet her eyes. "Do you swear your undying loyalty to me above all others, on penalty of your life?"

Scaramouche wanted to stop her, to make her leave. Lucille couldn't make this promise. He couldn't let her.

Yet he could only watch with a blank stare as Lucille muttered out the damning words. "I swear it."

"Then, welcome Harlequin, Twelfth of the Twelve Fatui Harbingers." She paused for a moment before continuing. "La Fleur."