The sky was dark, a storm brewing over the barren landscape where Scaramouche and Xiao faced each other. Fatui agents surrounded them, their cold, indifferent stares fixed on the scene unfolding before them. The Tsaritsa's voice echoed in Scaramouche's mind, her cold command binding him, forcing his hand toward a betrayal that would break them both.
"End him," her voice whispered, chillingly calm. "Show him the price of defiance."
Xiao looked at him, unflinching, his amber eyes bright and fearless despite the weight of what was to come. Scaramouche's heart twisted painfully. Xiao had always been the one constant, the one person who saw beyond the arrogance and cruelty Scaramouche showed the world. And now, Scaramouche was forced to bring that light to an end.
Xiao took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he spoke, his voice calm, almost serene. "If this is the way it has to end... then I'm glad it's you. I won't fight you."
Scaramouche felt a lump rise in his throat, an ache in his chest that threatened to shatter him. He clenched his fists, his hands trembling as he raised his weapon. "Why... why aren't you fighting back?" he demanded, his voice strained with anger and sorrow. "Why would you give up so easily?"
Xiao tilted his head, his gaze filled with a sorrowful understanding. "I've always known you didn't belong here, Scaramouche. You're not like them, no matter how much you try to convince yourself. If my life can buy you freedom... then it's worth it."
The words pierced Scaramouche's heart like a blade, each one tearing at the walls he had built around himself. He wanted to scream, to throw down his weapon and defy the command chaining him, but he knew the Tsaritsa was watching, waiting to see if he would disobey. And if he did... Xiao would suffer for it.
He had no choice.
"Xiao, please... don't make this harder than it already is," he murmured, his voice cracking. His vision blurred, and he cursed the tears he couldn't hold back. He had been trained to be strong, to be ruthless, yet here he was, breaking down before the one person who had managed to slip past his defenses.
Xiao took a step closer, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, his eyes calm. "It's alright, Scaramouche. I forgive you."
The words felt like a death sentence, sealing the fate that had already been decided. Scaramouche's chest heaved as he took a shaky breath, the command in his mind urging him forward, demanding he complete his task. He couldn't bear it—the thought of bringing harm to Xiao, of tearing down the one person who had given him hope, who had seen something in him worth saving.
But he couldn't disobey. The Tsaritsa's power held him like a vice, a puppet forced to dance to her tune.
"Don't forgive me," he whispered, his voice filled with raw agony. "I don't deserve it."
Xiao merely smiled, his gaze soft and unwavering. "I already have."
Scaramouche's heart shattered as he raised his blade, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light. Xiao stood before him, unyielding, his expression one of quiet acceptance. He was ready to sacrifice himself, to give everything, even his life, for someone who had betrayed him.
And that was the cruelest part.
With a silent cry, Scaramouche forced himself forward, his weapon poised. His hand trembled as he brought it down, every fiber of his being screaming in protest, but he couldn't stop himself. The blade sliced through the air, its edge biting into Xiao's flesh, and for a single, agonizing moment, Xiao gasped, his eyes widening in shock and pain.
But he didn't fight back. He didn't scream. He simply looked at Scaramouche, his gaze filled with a love and forgiveness that would haunt Scaramouche for the rest of his life.
As Xiao's body crumpled to the ground, Scaramouche dropped his weapon, his hands shaking, his vision blurred by tears. He fell to his knees beside Xiao, his heart a raw, bleeding wound as he cradled the broken form of the man he had been forced to betray.
"I'm so sorry, Xiao," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you."
Xiao's hand twitched, his fingers weakly reaching for Scaramouche's face. With a trembling breath, Xiao managed a faint smile, his voice a soft murmur. "I know, Scaramouche. I... I never hated you. Not even for a moment."
The words were like a final dagger to Scaramouche's heart. He clutched Xiao's hand, his own shaking uncontrollably, his tears falling onto Xiao's blood-streaked face. The Tsaritsa's command had been fulfilled, her cruel satisfaction echoing in his mind, but it felt hollow, meaningless, a victory steeped in the ashes of betrayal and loss.
Xiao's breaths grew shallow, his life slipping away with every passing second. Scaramouche's heart broke anew with each one, his chest aching with a grief he couldn't bear. He wanted to scream, to curse the Tsaritsa, to rail against the cruelty of fate, but all he could do was watch, helpless, as the life faded from Xiao's eyes.
In those final moments, Xiao's hand tightened slightly, a soft, comforting gesture, as if to reassure him one last time. "Live, Scaramouche," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Be free... for both of us."
And then, with one last, shuddering breath, Xiao's hand went still, his body falling limp in Scaramouche's arms. The light left his eyes, his gaze fixed on some far-off horizon, a place where Scaramouche could never reach him.
For a long, agonizing moment, Scaramouche held him, his world reduced to a hollow, empty void. The Tsaritsa had won, her command fulfilled, her puppet obedient. But in doing so, she had taken everything that mattered, leaving Scaramouche broken and adrift.
Finally, he rose, Xiao's lifeless form lying still on the ground, a quiet testament to the cruelty of fate. As he turned and walked away, leaving behind the ashes of what could have been, he knew that he would never escape the memory of Xiao's sacrifice, the love he had destroyed in the name of survival.
For in the end, he had been given his freedom—but it was a freedom tainted by the shadow of a promise he could never keep, a love that would haunt him for all his days.
