=Obligatory disclaimer because I only wish I owned Persona goes here.=
=Other obligatory warning of incoming yaoi because I can here.=
The yaoi this time is not the focal point of the story. I'm trying to do something different this time around. So if you're looking for nothing but AkihikoxMinato fluffy cuteness, I'm afraid you're out of luck.
Now that all my bases are covered, enjoy!
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He couldn't stop running.
The hallways echoed with his ragged breath, a rare moment of emotional weakness. Charging forward with reckless abandon, he only cared about escape, and did not stop until the thudding footsteps behind his own dwindled down to nothing. As soon as silence reigned, he turned a corner and slumped against the wall, adrenaline all but disappeared. Sword in hand, he placed the hilt against his forehead, steadying his ragged breath.
There was nowhere for him to go. Alone and overpowered, he could only hope that his nearby teammates did not stray far from the point at which they separated. Peering out the window for only a minute, he caught a glimpse of the sickly green moon of the Dark Hour, unobscured by any trace of shadow. It was a full moon, and he should have known better.
But there was still hope, however so miniscule left within his heart. But he had to find them. Somewhere deep within this grotesque castle, his comrades lay, equally lost and confused.
Forcefully, he gripped the hilt of his blade, taking a shaky step from his running spot.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
Steely cerulean eyes gazed at a formless amalgamation that floated before him, thick, opaque black smoke choking off all hope of passing through. It shocked to the touch and quickly surrounded him, leaving no opening and no hope.
Somewhere along the way, he was sure he heard Fuuka cry out his name over the earpiece he wore. But the sentient smoke left no room for response. It charged at him on all sides, through and around him. Pain soon followed. It showed no mercy on his bare skin, and congregated at a singular point on his back shoulder, burning to the point at which the normally quiet boy cried and begged for reprieve. He felt warm blood run down his back, and a ringing laughter, taunting his agony.
Minato let one final scream into the air….
…and bolted upright, quickly observing his surroundings. A rolled up towel flew from his forehead, warm and damp from his flushed skin. Sweat beaded from every pore, giving his body a slightly luminescent appearance. With the energy available to him, Minato quickly observed himself in the mirror,eerily finding no scars or marks on his body; and much to his confusion, the moon peering down at him through the window was not full.
"A dream then.." He whispered, brushing the spot where so much pain had radiated. To his surprise however, his fingers met slightly raised skin.
Minato quickly turned his back to the mirror, face paling when he noticed what was the cause. Three elongated claw marks extended from the shoulder and above them all, was the tiniest mark of a butterfly.
Somehow, it wasn't just a dream.