Commission To Slay a Black Dragon

Chapter XVI: Puppet on the chair

Notes

Many elements in this chapter is from Scaramouche's pre-fatui life. I just thought that not much light is shed on his friendship with Katsuragi in other works and I am deprived . You can read his full pre-Fatui life story either on the Genshin wiki or read about it in various artifacts and I think the Inazuma claymore weapon too? Even without knowledge of the lore, I hope the chapter won't be too confusing QQ, happy reading!

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Ribbons fluttered, guided by the hilt of his sword to dance with the clouds. The young boy twirls, gliding his blade with such elegance that even the wind paused to marvel at his beauty. What other purpose should a katana serve than to slay one's foes? As his blade clashed against the other before him, the man was smiling with a playful grin, cheeks rosy from the slight overdose of sake. And it felt like he finally understood the true purpose of wielding his sword, more than just for killing. Another whirl and he jabs at his partner, finding that a blade - not his own - was swiftly, yet gently, too sitting by his neck. The pair stood rooted to the ground, breathless from the dance with hearts soaring higher than the stars.

The youth's eyes were clear, steadily looking into the other man. As his ears drowned out the cheering crowd that enveloped them, for the first time, he could not help but break into an euphoric smile.

.

Every moment of his life, since his creation, was burned into minable data, stored safely within his core. Each memory should have been treated with equality, destroyed  without bias if they no longer hold rational value. Yet, useless memories of phantoms still stayed within him, an error of some sort disallowing him from discarding them.

"Will you stay with us?"

"My name? You can call me Katsuragi. I have no master, and therefore no last name, as do you."

He will - he can never forget him. His first friend, his first dance, and his first death.

"He's gone, boy. Slain by Nagamasa, for being a traitor."

By the time he had arrived, breathless and aching from miles of running, there was only a carcass left, half-protruding from the moistened soil in a rushed burial with slabs of rotting flesh hanging off skeletal remains.

Whatever that happened afterwards felt like a fever dream that he would never awaken from. Centuries of wandering compressed into a blur byte of data, his heart hollow, and his only purpose for revenge. Revenge against Nagasama, against the Raiden Shogen, against Inazuma.

"Dissect me if you wish, just unseal this damned vessel."

His first words to a harbinger was nothing short of a command. Yet, in spite of all the pride and arrogance diffusing from the doctor's smirk, there would be no protest raised, nor any haggling in exchange for this "favour".

Strapped on that very same chair, he saw the puppet from back then, fragile, broken, yet all too determined on chasing an unreachable dream.

"Clean that."

The recurring instruction has turned into a signal for rest. Scaramouche could see the knight's shoulders drooping with relief at the two magic words sounded by the doctor. Pathetic. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. The pound of flesh cuffed on that chair could barely be called a knight anymore. His eyes were barely open, body drenched in sweat yet still trembling. It was like he had become a different person from the knight Scaramouche first met just days ago. His princely persona has been thoroughly corroded by the dragon's toxin and the doctor's insanity. The veins in his body were glowing purple, snaking up to his neck and cheeks, and the black scales have grown further up his body and over an eye. On his head, the two horns that used to protrude have reduced to one - the other evidently broken off by Dottore for his research.