A flightless eternity - Scaramouche x My OC x some Y/N

1 - Down

Scaramouche was lost.

There was no getting around it now.

He cursed himself blind for being so goddamn stupid.

It was a simple debt collection, and all had been going smoothly, so he decided to go alone just on that day.

Who would have guessed that over 100 treasure hoarders charged at him, attempting to kill the harbinger in one fell swoop?

Well, he wouldn't have it.

He walked straight toward the horde, fingers crackling with the lightning's faded glow and sword wielded. As soon as they came close, he swung his weapon wildly, electrocuting some, stabbing others.

Scaramouche had then, stupidly, decided to chase down all the members who managed to escape his destructive fury in an red haze.

On the way, however, he found almost 10 ruin guards, stopping to fight every single one in a fit of anger.

By the time he had managed to clear almost his 11th, new enemies appeared.

Ah. It seems like they all regrouped.

Scaramouche thought, looking at about 17 treasure hoarder bosses, and two ruin hunters.

Well, at least I get to slaughter them all in one go.

Scaramouche gripped his sword, eyes glinting with pleasure as a malicious smile took over his face.

It was a tough fight, especially with the knee Scaramouche had managed to hurt on his way along.

Tch. So much work for only four kills.

Scaramouche was coated in scratches, feeling almost dazed of the lack of energy he was facing.

It felt like while he was fighting those people, more and more kept coming. Just when Scaramouche was starting to hit his best feeling yet, working in harmony and seriously enjoying himself, a ruin hunter slashed him hard on his arm, making him wince a bit.

The treasure hoarders saw this short pause in his annihilation to attack, wounding him even more.

An even wider smile graced Scaramouche's face, as he dropped his weapon and touched the floor.

BZzzT!

Let the light show begin.

So now, here he was.

He killed quite a few of them, but a lot of treasure hoarders and robots escaped in his excited fighting, and now he was feeling a bit drained.

Patching up his arm with a vine to the best of his abilities, he thought of all the underlings he could take his anger out on.

He slowly began plotting.

I need to get to camp. I'm missing in ruin guard infested woods, and injured. I can still fight.

He laughed a little to himself, his pride not wanting to admit that he was lost.

The scouts will find me.

He sat by a tree, thinking about plans to get revenge on the entirety of the treasure hoarders.

That was, until he heard something.

It was a soft sound, carried on the wind skillfully.

A mandolin. Someone is here, playing the mandolin.

He got up, weapon drawn, a furious glare on his face.

Meanwhile, the person playing just smiled to himself.

And so it starts.