"From this day forth, the names "Balladeer" and "kabukimono" will cease to exist."
His body began to fade. The dim embers of divine power within his artificial form began to dissipate. His very existence was being erased from Irminsul, all according to his last wish. The process itself was painless, yet the ache in his nonexistent heart was unbearable.
It burned like an inferno raging within his chest. The flames consuming his body felt akin to a cleansing blaze that cleansed filth from this world. A sickening sensation made him wish he could scrape away the last remnants of emotions he had failed to erase long ago.
Yet all he could do was embrace it.
Embrace it as the realization of every mistake he had ever made throughout his life. From his birth to the standing here in this very moment. All the lives that might have been spared had he never been brought into this world. Niwa. Katsuragi. Countless others from Tatarasuna.
Had he never existed and had he never drawn the Doctor's interest, they would have lived. The atrocities he had committed were all born from his belief that his family had betrayed him. The feeling was maddening, so overwhelming that the centuries of rage he had endured now seemed like nothing more than a child's tantrum.
Yet he could not abandon that rage, not after living with it for centuries. Not when it was his only companion during most of his journey. Not when it had defined his existence for so long. The betrayal of being cast aside by his own mother for being too weak. The sickening discovery of that vile Miko's advice, to dispose of him before it was too late. Advice he almost wished Ei had followed.
The heartbreak of Niwa's betrayal. The all-consuming rage upon learning it was Dottore's doing. And the regret that followed. The betrayal of being abandoned by the child who had been his only family. How foolish it now seemed to have blamed humans for their own frailty.
And the crawling thought that haunted him still, that the disease which claimed the child's life might have been born from his existence… and the furnace crisis.
Words spilled from his lips as he poured out his thoughts to the traveler. He had lost control, the confession flowing without pause. He felt as his very memories were being erased from the world. His consciousness began to fade, his senses vanishing one by one, slipping beyond his grasp. His body was already gone. He could neither see nor hear what the traveler was saying.
But it no longer mattered. The decision had been made, and he would see it through. Only his voice remained, until it, too, faded, swallowed by silence. For a fleeting moment, his consciousness merged with Irminsul itself.
It was the closest he had ever come to true divinity. And yet, there was no joy in the sensation as his final thought withered away.
'So… it was all for nothing?'
Just as somebody who no longer existed said, there was Balladeer or Kabukimono no more.
Normally, patrols didn't venture into the outskirts. But after the Awakened closed one of the gates in the outskirts, the crime rate in the region rose to unacceptable levels. It was no longer just small, organized clashes between street rats. With infrastructure severely damaged, the gangs began raiding other districts of the City.
Fortunately, no Awakened were involved, but even that was enough of a threat for the government to act. The officer walked alongside his partner down the empty streets. No one dared stand in their way. The naturally wary residents of the outskirts hid inside what could generously be called houses. Buildings barely held together, structures that, in other parts of the City, would have been condemned long ago.
"Are you sure these patrols make any sense?"
One officer asked, glancing at his partner while maintaining his grip on the government-issued equipment.
"I mean, rumors are already spreading across the outskirts. The larger gangs must be lying low. There's no chance we'll catch anyone."
He added.
The older man, mustached, his brow lined with wrinkles, replied while scanning their surroundings.
"I doubt they expect results from us. This is probably just an intimidation tactic to keep everyone in line. Why else would they issue us spelltech?"
The younger officer nodded, though doubt still lingered on his face.
"You think there could be a nightmare creature involved? Some of them might hold a grudge against the government and ignore the directive. It wouldn't be the first time."
The mustached officer tensed at the suggestion, but didn't deny it.
"Only more reasons to be careful."
After that reply, both of them fell silent.
The atmosphere in the outskirts was oppressive. The outskirts were never lively, yet with their presence, the silence seemed even heavier. The polluted air turned the sky a grim shade of gray. The chemical stench from numerous factories, mixed with the filth of the streets, was unbearable, yet it was something they had grown used to over the past few days.
The entire district felt oppressively dull until something in the distance caught their attention. By itself, seeing someone here at this hour, though rare, wasn't suspicious. But there was something about the boy… no, slightly older, maybe a teenager, standing near a trash bin, staring into the distance.
The doubtful officer fixed his gaze on the teenager before speaking to his partner.
"It doesn't look like his clothes are cheap. Think he wandered in and got lost?"
The mustached officer studied the boy as well. He was a slightly short teenager with dark hair and unusual clothing, nothing like what one would expect from the usual residents, but distantly reminded Memories. The officer quickly tensed, a frown forming on his face.
"Possibly an Awakened… or maybe a Sleeper."
Hearing this, the doubtful officer exclaimed.
"An Awakened?! Are you serious? What would one be doing here at this hour?"
The mustached officer reached for his weapon. It would be futile against a true Awakened, but they still had to be prepared, should the boy prove hostile.
"Either that, or a Legacy. But I doubt they'd allow one into the outskirts."
The doubtful officer narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide which possibility stood before them, before finally sighing.
"Should we… just leave him alone?"
The younger officer asked.
His partner remained silent. If he were honest, approaching a potentially dangerous Awakened was the last thing he wanted to do. But protocol was protocol. If there was even a chance the boy was just some rich kid who had wandered where he shouldn't have, they were obligated to help.
The mustached older one shook his head. His partner sighed, resigned, and steeled himself. Together, they approached the boy.
As they drew closer, more details of his appearance came into view. His hair carried an odd shade of purple, subtle at first glance. In contrast, his eyes were unmistakably violet, lined with red eyeliner. He wore strange black clothes with shorts adorned with intricate details.
Whatever caution they had before doubled instantly. The officers exchanged glances, and the mustached one stepped forward.
"Hey, boy. Are you lost? Need help finding your way home?"
The mustached officer reached for the boy's shoulder, but the instant he made contact, his hand was slapped away.
"Get lost."
The boy's distant expression vanished. Slowly, almost sluggishly, he turned his head to glare at the man. The movement alone was enough to alarm the officer.
"The officer asked you a question. Answer."
The second officer stepped in, his tone sharpening.
The boy snapped his head toward them, his expression twisted with open annoyance, lips curling into a near sneer.
The less experienced officer's legs trembled slightly, still operating under the assumption that the boy was an Awakened. But the mustached man was even more alarmed.
"I'm under no obligation to answer questions from vermin like you."
The mustached officer ignored the insult. He seized the boy's shoulder, gripping it firmly to prevent him from pulling away. The boy's brows knit together as he tried to wrench free, but his eyes failed to focus, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
"Shit! Nightmare Spell carrier, late stage, by the looks of it! Get PTV, now!"
The shout jolted the doubtful officer, who immediately sprinted toward the vehicle. The remaining officer snatched up his communicator and barked into it.
"We have an emergency, a possible Gate One threat. Notify the Awakened. We're returning to the station."
Scaramouche opened his eyes. His first thought upon waking was not that he was alive, nor that he had appeared in a completely unfamiliar place, nor even that he had been reduced to the powerless state in which he had once been abandoned after his powers were sealed.
No, none of that mattered. His only thought was that he had failed. In the end, the final act that might have granted his existence even a sliver of meaning had been utterly pointless. He himself might have been erased, yet everything he had done still remained.
It didn't matter that Irminsul had shifted the blame onto another. In the end, as the one who had set everything into motion, he knew the truth: it had always been his fault.
To call this an awakening would have been too generous. He clung to consciousness, his eyelids unbearably heavy, as though an unseen force were trying to stitch them shut. The thought was absurd, after all, he was a puppet. Sleep was unnecessary; he had never required it to function.
Nor did he feel exhaustion, for puppets were never meant to experience such weakness. If he could, it would contradict the very purpose of his creation. It would defy the ideal of eternity that the electro archon had pursued so relentlessly. And yet…
His gaze drifted aimlessly, his mind hollow. He did not recognize his surroundings, nor did he find the will to care about his predicament. The realization that he was still alive was too overwhelming; everything around him felt distant, unreal, like a distant dream.
Truthfully, he still wasn't certain he wasn't dreaming. Maybe he had imagined everything. Maybe Katsuragi had never found him, and he would wake from this illusion at any moment.
Or perhaps this was nothing more than a samsara loop conjured by the Dendro Archon.
Or maybe everything he had endured was a fabrication of his mind, while he still lay where she had abandoned him.
It would make sense, far too much sense. After all, she had already made one mistake in creating him; who was to say there weren't others? In the end, she had never been as perfect as she appeared.
'How absurd,'
He thought, suppressing a bitter chuckle.
'There's no point deluding myself any longer. I failed, and this is where it brought me.'
Scaramouche clenched his fists. His gaze hardened into a glare as he fought to stay conscious.
'How laughable, to struggle against something as simple as sleep.'
He nearly scoffed.
'To think the mighty have fallen so low.'
His thoughts were shattered when he felt a hand settle on his shoulder.
Anger surged, and Scaramouche instinctively tried to slap it away. He had grown careless, too careless to notice someone approaching. His movements were sluggish, worse, terribly sloppy. His body barely obeyed. Every motion felt like moving underwater, his limbs dragging through invisible resistance.
"Get lost,"
He barked, finally lifting his eyes to the man.
The man's outfit vaguely resembled Fatui gear, matched with weapons of a similar make. Yet from the way they moved, they seemed more like guards on patrol.
He struggled to think clearly as the figures blurred before his eyes. Had he been in better condition, Scaramouche would have driven them away and left at once to assess his situation. Instead, all he could manage was a hollow threat.
The mustached man recoiled slightly. Scaramouche struggled to read his expression; the man's features were too blurred. The moment the man seized him again, Scaramouche tried to wrench himself free.
It took a terrible effort, and though it yielded nothing, he refused to give up, if only out of spite. Even understanding their words became a struggle. One of them ran off, leaving him alone with the soldier restraining him.
"Don't resist. We're escorting you to the police station to ensure the Third Special Directive is followed. We mean no harm."
Scaramouche continued to struggle, trying to tear himself free, but in his weakened state, it was futile. The man grunted, straining against the puppet's lingering strength, even diminished as it was.
"Remove your filthy hands, or I'll make sure you won't-"
Scaramouche didn't get to finish. A roaring sound tore through the air. With great effort, he turned his head. What he saw resembled a highly modernized carriage, or one of the militarized transport devices he had glimpsed in Fatui laboratories or on Dottore's schemes.
He forced out another surge of strength, trying to shove away the man pinning him to the ground, his arms twisted behind his back. Scaramouche almost succeeded, but another man rushed in to assist.
"You're sure this is just a nightmare spell carrier?!"
The returning man shouted at his partner.
"It's taking both of us just to hold him down in this state!"
The man he addressed only grunted in response. Together, they hauled Scaramouche off the ground, barely managing to stop him, and hurled him inside the vehicle on the seats.
'What the hell are those two talking about?'
Scaramouche muttered inwardly, glaring at the front seats.
"Keep the wheel steady. I'll initiate the standard protocol. We don't have much time."
The older man replied, his tone far calmer despite the chaos.
A situation Scaramouche didn't understand in the slightest.
'Whatever this place is… they don't recognize me,'
Scaramouche noted to himself. A ridiculous thought, really. Especially after erasing himself from Irminsul. But the simple fact that he was still alive was proof enough that anything was possible.
He was jolted from his thoughts when the older man barked at him.
"Do whatever you have to, boy, but don't you dare fall asleep!"
The man's voice cut sharply, urgency unmistakable.
"Do you hear me?"
Scaramouche answered with a scowl, earning a relieved sigh from the driver.
"Damn brat… endangering everyone with that arrogance."
The man scoffed, irritation bleeding into his tone.
"Do you even realize what would've happened if you'd failed your first nightmare?"
Scaramouche only scoffed.
"Do I look like I care about the lives of a few ants?"
He spat, noticing the driver's grip tighten around the wheel.
"Legacies…"
The man muttered, disgust lacing his voice.
"Steer the wheel, I'll handle this."
The older of the two cut in, turning toward him.
"How long ago were you infected?"
A frown etched itself onto Scaramouche's face as he grunted in response.
"Try making sense if you want an answer."
Scaramouche snapped.
The man fell silent for a moment before asking another question.
"What's your name?"
He didn't answer immediately. Scaramouche remained silent. Indeed… what was his name? The moment he erased himself from Irminsul, "Kabukimono", along with every name tied to the title of Balladeer, vanished. He no longer had a name. The one he was using was merely out of familiarity.
"Don't fall asleep, boy, we're only minutes away!"
The repeated warnings were already grating on his nerves.
"None of your business!"
The officer behind the wheel scoffed.
"What about your family? Do you have anyone we should contact?"
The question struck a nerve more than Scaramouche expected.
"I don't have any, and I don't need any!"
Even as the words left his mouth, a brief pang of guilt and regret surfaced, but he forced it down.
"An escaped legacy, huh?"
Scaramouche had grown thoroughly tired of the man's commentary. If he could, he'd gladly silence him with a well-placed kick or two.
The older man sighed.
"How much do you know about the Nightmare Spell?"
The question sounded nonsensical at first, yet Scaramouche paused to consider it, searching for any connection to his current condition.
"Only the basics,"
Scaramouche replied carefully, a lie. He clung to the last remnants of his self-control, fighting the pull of sleep while trying to gather information.
The faintest hint of disbelief crossed one of the men's faces. It seemed that, whatever role they believed he occupied, they expected him to be more knowledgeable.
Nonetheless, the man continued with his explanation.
"The moment you fall asleep, your first trial will begin. You will be transported into the nightmare. If you succeed, you will awaken your aspect and return. If you fail, you will leave the Nightmare Gate behind. Check your runes, and do not hesitate to eliminate anything that stands in your way."
Scaramouche nodded, the irony hardly lost on him.
'To be told to sacrifice anything for myself once more after failing and losing everything.'
Still, it explained their urgency. The term "Nightmare Gate" certainly didn't bode well. Was he even still in Teyvat? Had he become some sort of Descender? The thought was utterly absurd. Yet if the man was telling the truth, it might be the key to recovering from his current state.
'And then what?'
He had no answer. To endure yet another trial, forced to prove his right to exist. Why should he? Why bother fighting at all? He sighed as his vision blurred, as though sleep was already dragging him under.
Still, he forced the haze from his eyes.
'At the very least, I won't let the nightmare claim me so easily. They must have protocols for carriers who fail.'
How pathetic it would be for a puppet, one without human needs, to be undone by something as trivial as sleep.
Scaramouche remained silent as he went along. He had no desire to indulge their meaningless chatter. His gaze drifted to the window, where countless buildings melted into a single blur as the vehicle sped toward its destination.
"Hey… he didn't fall asleep, did he?"
The more irritating man asked. The older man leaned closer.
"He… he doesn't seem to be breathing,"
He muttered, panic creeping into his voice.
"Shit, did he already fail?"
Scaramouche turned his head toward them, raising an unimpressed brow. Neither of them knew his true nature, yet did they truly think about him so lowly after assuming him to be some sort of legacy?
"Drive faster, if you don't want me falling asleep."
Both men jolted, clearly unprepared for his sudden reply. This time, the irritating man said nothing, and Scaramouche felt the vehicle surge forward. Neither of them spoke again.
When the vehicle finally stopped, the abrupt halt threw him from the seat, and Scaramouche could only glare. His clothes were smeared with dirt from being thrown to the floor and pinned there in restraints.
The two men seized him by the arms, leaving the restraints in place as they dragged him toward the building. It was humiliating, but his body was far too weak to resist. Most of his strength was spent simply keeping his eyes open.
The place they carried him to seemed to serve a militaristic purpose. Perhaps the men were soldiers after all, or guards stationed at some outpost.
'None of that matters… Soon, I can close my eyes.'
Half-conscious, he watched as people rushed around him from one corner to another. They restrained him even further, fastening more straps around his body. Until he could no longer move at all. The sensation stirred unpleasant memories of the Doctor's operating table. He shuddered faintly, reminding himself that whatever they intended, he would be gone by then.
He was ready to surrender to the darkness, yet something… something caught his attention.
"Buer…"
A woman's figure wavered in the corner, blurred and indistinct. She seemed taller than he remembered, but with effort, he could make out a white dress and pale hair touched with green. No matter how he tried to reason otherwise, there could be no mistake.
'What is she doing here…?'
He struggled to lift himself, desperate to see her more clearly.
"Buer…!"
He called, grasping for her attention, though he didn't know why. Scaramouche forgot his restraints entirely, straining with all his strength to reach her.
"Buer… wait!"
He cried in desperation.
'Why am I doing this?'
Scaramouche wondered, but, as always, no answer came.
"…uer!"
The broken syllable was his last, before his consciousness finally gave way. Darkness swallowed everything. Amid the lightless silence, a distant voice echoed through his fading mind.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]