TRIGGER WARNING: This involves Kamoshida, aka Sex Criminal Narcissistic Creep Teacher, and narrow aversion of...what he does in canon (if it wasn't, this would be on the part of Questionable Questing they don't like to talk about). Be warned (I think strong implication works, but it's hard to fully express Kamoshida's character and not get into very uncomfortable territory).

Breaker of Crowns

Another day, another failed quiz. Such was Ryuji Sakamoto's life.

It wasn't that he was stupid, precisely. Well, okay, he knew full well he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box (in fact, as far as illumination went you'd be justified in getting a refund for defective merchandise in the extended metaphor), but he was okay with homework assignments and longer-term projects. It was the effing (not "fucking"-Ryuji was not the least foul-mouthed student to ever live, but the f-bomb was one of three swears that needed a special situation before it overcame his mother's ingrained ethics lessons) test anxiety that got him, and his hatred of studying.

Well, that, and the presence of the perverted shithead currently breathing down his neck.

"Math troubles, Sakamoto?" Said shithead, Suguru Kamoshida the volleyball coach and PE teacher, began pleasantly. Ryuji was not fooled. "Knowing what Ms. Usami's getting into, can't say I blame you. Even Mishima has problems with it."

To anyone who only knew general tech geek Yuuki Mishima through his grades, like most people in school, this would come off as genuine sympathy. To anyone who was in Kamoshida's orbit, the hidden taunt blared like an exploding bomb-Mishima was the designated punching bag of the volleyball club, due to his less-than-stellar athletic abilities.

Ryuji, much to his own dismay, was part of the latter group. "Gee, thanks sensei," he murmured, trying very hard to ignore the adult version of a playground bully.

"You know," he continued, "the volleyball team also doubles as a study group. While I know we've had our differences in the past, you've obviously recovered enough to-"

Whatever Kamoshida was about to say was long out of earshot, Ryuji having left his notepad behind in the scurry to get away from the asshole.

Once he was a safe distance (about seven meters, give or take), Ryuji slowed to a stop and checked behind him. From his glance, Kamoshida had lost interest...

Because Ann Takamaki had rounded a corner, and was now forcing a smile at her her supposed sugar daddy flirting with her.

Yeah, "Kamoshida's beloved," Ryuji's bum foot. Takamaki and he had known each other since elementary school, and while the bottle blonde was hesitant to call the actual blonde his "friend", he actually bothered to know her beyond bullshit stereotypes of loose gaijin. Whatever Kamoshida did to charm her, it was a complete and utter lie-and no matter how well he actually treated Takamaki, Ryuji knew that he wasn't good for her. He didn't know what kind of spell he cast on her to make her think there was something redeemable in him, but Ryuji would break it, for the entire school, someday.

And do what?, a thought that sounded like his vanished and much-despised father said. They will never take your word over that of King Kamoshida. He's a celebrity, and you're a thug.

The thought had a point. So, hating himself for his weakness, Ryuji vanished into the halls.

He didn't notice the tiny, amorphous humanoid thing observing the whole exchange, nor did he notice it vanish into a swirling dark.

"Hey, do you go to Shujin?"

Startled, Ryujin nearly dropped his bag into the rain-slick street.

The boy behind him didn't look like too much. Bespectacled, dark-haired, probably erring towards the side of mildly. Also, with a feline head sticking out of his backpack, so apparently a fanatical pet owner. The one odd aspect of his stance was a light smile on his face, despite being in the middle of the rain without any umbrella.

"Yeah?" Ryuji replied. "Who's asking?"

"Kurusu. Akira Kurusu." The smile widened a bit. "I'm the psychopath who murdered a guy and was sent far away from my terrified parents."

Oh, so this was the transfer. Something told Ryuji the rumors (from personal experience) were greatly exaggerated. "Ryuji Sakamoto," the fake blonde replied, grinning. "I punched a teacher in the teeth. He was totally asking for it, though."

"Kamoshida, I hear?" Kurusu cocked his head almost imperceptibly. "I think I saw him picking up a pair of girls."

A pair!? "Wait, are you telling me he's drooling over multiple teens now? That sick bastard!"

Kurusu nodded. "I know, right? Both looked like they would rather be...anywhere else."

Ryuji could already tell this guy was bro material. "Well, I'll be upfront and admit I didn't realize he was the kind of person who bites jailbait when I punched him-he has way more reasons to hate his ass than that."

Then something occurred to him. "Hang on, why're you asking me? I appreciate the company, but..."

Akira shrugged. "It's nice being the school bad boy, but it's not so nice to have that label applied to you by forces beyond your control. You're the only male I've seen who isn't passing around notes about me."

Oh yeah, the rumors. "Shit. Now I have to be your friend. Delinquents gotta stick together, I guess."

"Muhahaha, my ridiculously circuitous scheme to have something resembling a social life is one-quarter complete." When Ryuji greeted that with a blank stare, Akira shrugged. "Futurama. It's an American comedy anime."

"And you understood that?"

"Circuitous: A route that takes far longer than is necessary."

"...Please tell me you bring that intelligence to study groups," Ryuji said, a pleading look in his eye.

"That and more. Buy now!" Akira laughed, an oddly tinkling sound. "So, you know any good places to eat? I'll pay."

"Nah, I'll keep with your choices," Ryuji replied. "I'm okay with anything today."

As they were walking off, Ryuji realized something; while the cat had been intently watching Ryuji the entire time, it didn't seem to mind the rain. In fact, it hardly seemed wet.

Neither, for that matter, was its owner.

Weird.

"...and then the old bastard blames me!" Ryuji leaned back into Leblanc's booth, swinging his leg around to rest on the seat. "I mean, seriously! You're the asshole who's convinced the school my mom is a...loose woman, you deliberately crippled me for the sake of your own volleyball ego, and now you're the real victim!? Egotistical, much?"

Something about Akira radiated-well, not trustworthiness. More like someone who had kept secrets for a long time and wouldn't mind adding a few of yours to his collection. Quite simply, Ryuji felt he could unload a lot of weight on his back.

For his part, Akira listened intently, occasionally speaking only to clarify a point. By the end of Ryuji's rant, he finally put down the hands that were covering his mouth, his perpetual smile gone. "I wish I had words for what you went for. Instead, I'll just say...that was rough."

"You said it. Rough, and with no chance of it getting less rough." Ryuji sighed, swirling what was left of his curry around the plate. "Now and forever, I'm the shit on the boot of society-everybody thinks I'm gonna join the Yakuza or something, and occasionally, I wonder if they're right. I mean, what's society ever done for me? Might as well get some cool tats and actual buddies out of it, if I ever find a clan that doesn't murder people. Or deal drugs."

"Hm," Akira said, looking over Ryuji intently. "I can definitely see that. Beware Ryuji Sakamoto, the noble pirate."

"...Huh." Ryuji smirked. "Actually, that does fit. Arr, I be Captain Ryuji. Hand over ye mangas."

Akria snorted. The cat (Morgana, his owner had bizarrely called him) instead affixed the blonde with a flat expression of total lack of amusement before meowing.

The other boy flicked said cat on the nose. "Shush you. This is our guest." He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Gyrinxes can be a bit of a handful."

You don't say. Morgana seemed to have decided that Ryuji was somewhere between a very large dog and the average dead body in term of likability, going by his perpetually sour glare. "The fact your cat hates me aside," Ryuji began, ignoring the more insistent meow, "You've been a real help. It's just..it's just..."

"Like you don't have any power at all?" Akira's smile turned sympathetic. "You feel weak, because Kamoshida is protected by something that you can't fight. A coward's shield of fame and acceptance, even if what you know he really is-because King Kamoshida is perfect. Obviously, any who accuse him of faults must be jealous, because if Kamoshida isn't perfect-then who is?"

Ryuji blinked. "...Are you psychic? Because seriously, you're reading out of my journal right now. With more flowery language."

The cat's meow sounded kind of like a laugh.

"Maybe. But if so, I rely on intuition more." With that, he pulled out twenty-two cards that didn't come from any playing deck Ryuji had and fanned them out. Four were red, another four blue, a third set purple, a fourth set green, and a fifth an off-grey color. One at the end was pure white, and the other at the far end was black.

Morgana leaned down to paw at one of the red cards, which Akira held up. On it was emblazoned a design that resembled nothing so much as a cybernetic dragon, merged with an abstract war machine. Two claws extended outward-one, a black claw, was holding a massive rifle smoking with mutlicolored fire, and the other white one some strange combo between a sword and a chainsaw, of all things (Ryuji wasn't sure if that was the most stupidly awesome thing he had ever seen or the most awesomely stupid). "If you'll excuse my superstition, this is you. A mighty Chariot, holding the fruits of long labor and knowledge in one hand and the refined form of ancient and noble morals in the other. Except for right now," he said, turning the card upside down, "It's reversed. You have the tools in grasp, but your own social situation has stalled you. You yearn for a better, purer world where people respect honest qualities like strength-whether it be that of arms or character-rather than some competition someone won decades ago and now only people who pay attention to his sport recall."

Ryuji mulled it over. "...Did you have to couch it in spooooky mystic terms? I'd respect people explaining it to me in plain Japanese."

Akira's eyebrows shot up. He mouthed something-wow, I'm better than I thought-before shaking his head. "Do you mind if I give you a spoooky good luck charm?" He held out a strange amulet in his palm-it looked like a shark's tooth, only bigger and more jagged. "My beliefs say it'll help you find places you can make a difference."

Raising his eyebrow, Ryuji took it-

-"Should someone like me really be on the starting lineup?" Oh God, please Ann, take the hint, I don't want this anymore-

-Ann was all but screaming into a phone-"I have a job right now, can you not call me for fifteen damn minutes!?"-

-"Make no mistake Suzui. You're only on here because the pretty one isn't. She begged me to put you on the team-it's time you proved to me you're more than just a drag on the club."

-and then he was back to reality, breathing heavily.

Akira's smile had disappeared. "What did you see?"

Ryuji didn't have time to question why Akira immediately realized he had a vision of some kind. "Someone-Shiho Suzui, I think-she was talking with Takamaki, begging her to stop a deal-then Takamaki yelling at Kamoshida-then him talking to her in the coach's office..."

Ryuji's face paled. "Oh fuck. I saw what he was doing. What he was going to do-that's why people were hearing screaming coming from there-we have to stop him!"

With that, the blonde charged out of Leblanc, not realizing how fast he was running, or how painlessly-or the slight burning sensation as his left hand turned to gleaming brass.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. We got him before he got you. It's okay..."

Shiho, for her part, said nothing except the quiet whimpers she was already, but she shivered a little less dramatically under her makeshift blanket, Akira's comforting words soothing the would-be victim of Kamoshida.

Her savior, on the other hand-simply gawked at his new hand, and the terrible wounds it had afflicted on the depraved coach. "What."

It's a favorite Gift of Khorne's, the telepathic voice of Morgana said, "voice" dripping with grudging respect. He sees a lot of potential in you-apparently even gods have a use for dumb muscle.

Snarky psychic talking cats. Okay, not the weirdest thing that had happened to Ryuji today. That may have been the vision, or the white rage that quickly replaced Ryuji's panic as soon as he saw the cowering Suzui and a darkly grinning Kamoshida. The kind of white rage that ended with him slathering the blood left on his now metallic left hand on his face. Not that he felt sorry for Kamoshida, and he only felt creeped out by his rage until he felt Suzui cling to his leg, murmuring "thank you" constantly in a tearful tide, but it was still pretty out there.

Except-"Ah hell. He's still alive, isn't he?" And denying you his skull, a strange, rumbling earthquake of a voice echoed from somewhere between Ryuji's mind and his soul. What an irritation, to be denied a trophy for your virgin victory. Ryuji decided to ask about that voice later.

"Don't worry, friend," a new voice came. "Akira is only an apprentice at the mental Art, but his first act of high sorcery went without a hitch. The coach is growing too tired to stand as we speak-in the morning, he'll think this all was a dream, like many a lame sitcom before him."

Ryuji turned to face the interloper-a brown-haired man in some very colorful floral pants. "Helped by the fact you fought like a nightmare, and I mean that in the best possible light." Except...there was something off about this man. Like he was just a projection of something much stranger, much older, and much more powerful.

"Hayato!" Akira said, fondly. "Was wondering if you'd show up. How'd my first divination go?"

"I say it went splendidly." Hayato smirked. "Though I'd say you're a bit of a stickler, using my alias in front of two new friends of the truth."

"Oh yeah. Stupid." Akira got up. "Shiho, Ryuji, this is Abazar, the Archivist of Ambitions-and pretty much the closest thing to a real parent I had from elementary school onward. He goes by Hayato Kurou in daily life, but he's really a...how did you describe it?"

"Giant alien bird wizard made of thoughts."

"Right, that. He's the supernatural expert around here."

"Can I go first?" Ryuji asked Shiho.

She nodded silently. "Can't-can't think right now," she murmured, more breath than voice.

"...Right." Ryuji held up his hand. "Why do I have a robot arm now, who is Khorne, and why the eff does he think turning perfectly good hands into robot arms is a cool surprise present?"

"Well, to start with, Khorne didn't precisely turn your arm into his Hand," Abazar began. "Rather, he sensed that you had stopped lying to yourself and letting your hidden side out-every person, you see, has a Shadow cast in the Immaterium, the Great Sea of Souls-their truest selves. It's the power of Chaos, the Primordial Truth I was born from, to help people on this side of the cosmos leave behind their limitations as they dispense with the lies that prevent them from being their true selves; when you accepted your Shadow's desire to protect Suzui regardless of the personal risk, Khorne was able to use your frame of mind to mold your flesh to fit your soul. You've always had a Hand of Khorne, you just never realized it."

Ryuji rose an eyebrow. "And the reason it's a 'favored' gift is...?"

"Well, the gods chose what aspects of your Shadow to mutate into physical being. Khorne likes hands, what can I say? It's how sort of like how we daemons-with an 'a', the 'a' is important-learn to project flesh bodies when we wish to explore the mortal world. Except it's easier, because human mutations are working from a template, we have to pull a human body our of our Neverborn rears." Abazar snorted a bit at his own poor joke. "Second, to explain Khorne, it's best to explain Chaos...but thanks to a certain person, we must first start with the product of a shaman circle's working...and how, in the future his 'perfection' will be used to justify some of the most evil actions this galaxy has ever seen."

Ryuji leaned forward. "I'm listening."

(not too long in the future)

"Hey. Pervert. Wake up."

A badly bruised and beaten Kamoshida was snapped back to reality by a bucket of water. And was nearly sent back out of it by the bucket itself being thrown at him.

Slowly, the red shape in front of him resolved into Ryuji Sakamoto-or at least, what would be Sakamoto if Kamoshida wasn't obviously dreaming. He had the metal hand from his first nightmare, but now the boy had dark red skin, fangs for teeth, and a cannon seemingly merged with his right arm, all wrapped in black leathers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm talking to you, asshole. Bit of a drop from the top, wouldn't you say?"

The fall, yeah. He remembered someone pushing him, a female voice thanking him for the irony. This must be his mind's way of rebooting. In which case, there was nothing...oh.

"Yeah, we don't really care what you have to say," Sakamoto said, poking the gag. "You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Great. Dreaming of his former rival for the school's affections as a giant oni thing, and he couldn't even talk back. Thank you, Kamoshida's Brain. Really good scenario you got going.

"You may be wondering why I woke you up," Sakamoto began, leaning in closer. "Well, the truth is-I wanted to tell you how frustrating you are."

Huh? He didn't imagine Sakamoto-

There was a slight lisp to the demonic track star's voice.

Why did it sound like Sakamoto was having trouble speaking through his fangs.

"I wait, and I wait, for me to finally claim your skull, and by the time we corner you-not only have you been claimed by a natural rival of mine, but you're too pathetic to sacrifice." Sakamoto kneeled in a mockingly friendly demeanor. "I mean, I think you're this big shot Olympian mastermind who's been terrorizing innocent women to slake your decadent passions, and no-it turns out you're just a washed-up old-fart has-been who can't stand not having the ground he walked upon worshiped, so you force teenagers to help you live out your glory days of youth and fame. So I can't even dedicate your death as a good screw you to the other guy."

Slowly, Kamoshida realized that everything seemed too detailed for his imagination to come up with this particular dream.

"So, I just wanted to say-thank you." Sakamoto grinned a shark's grin. "You may be a terrible sacrifice, but you're a great peace offering. My god and Slaanesh may not get along like, at all, but if there's one pleasure we agree is one of the greatest-it's catharsis."

With that, Sakamoto got up, and opened a previously unseen door. Light, multicolored and strange, flashed through the room-followed closely by an odd, cloying mist that smelled of roses, new spring growth, the sea...

And hatred.

"Oh Ann! I got you the fleshmolding practice dummy you wanted!"

A/N: A bit of a change to how the Immaterium works, to fuse Warhammer with Persona-psykers and Persona users are different manifestations of the same source.

(Also, if Abazar seems a bit nice-keep in mind there's a large difference between "sympathetic" and "compassionate". No, they are not synonyms-"sympathetic" can just as easily mean "charming and generally affable" as opposed to "expressing sympathy.")