The Phantom Thieves trusted Joker, once upon a time.
Each of them had suffered at the hands of rotten adults – peers and family both. But now, they suffer for different reasons: Not enough time for those they held close, not enough freedom to indulge in their hobbies or side jobs, and not enough consideration from the one they crowned leader.
He knew what he was doing when the devil waved the contract in front of his face.
Safe Rooms in Mementos are far from comfortable. The chairs are hard, the air is suffocating, and there's the occasional screeching of wheels against rusted tracks. In the belly of Mementos was the heart of humanity, no longer accessible to any mortal. The door had remained shut to their every spell and attack. But since the false God had placed his 'trust' in the Phantom Thieves, Joker wondered if they had any need to see the Holy Grail a second time.
Human's had no business staring at such a sacred artifact, but they placed all their beliefs in it, praying it would bring them some form of salvation for all their sins.
His legs are starting to ache from standing in the same spot for so long, toeing the edge of the platform for a train that will never come. Their supplies were low, nothing beyond a simple Bead that they reserved for emergencies. Exhausted limbs and torso were hardly warranting of an 'emergency', despite how much his body begged for it.
There's a clutch of murmurs gnawing at the back of his brain. He has no reason to summon any Personas despite their feeble attempts to reach out to him. Their weariness is his too, and he's expended at least more than half of them in the short amount of time they've been diving in and out of warp holes to change hearts.
"Hey man. How many more of these we got?" Skull's voice is tired, drained from their nonstop voyage down to the halfway point of Akzeriyyuth. "It's getting late, ain't it?"
The problem with Mementos is the inability to tell time. Red light spills onto the floor like paint, dyeing the already-rusted tracks an angry brown. Sometimes, he would look up at the sky over Shibuya and it would look just like the colors staining the floor here. He wondered if the others could see it too.
"Two more paths." he replies simply, stepping away from the ledge.
Skull reacts as expected. His expression collapses, body heaving with a sigh as he scratches the back of his neck. A nervous habit Sakamoto Ryuji would do if he didn't particularly agree with something. Which was growing rather frequent, Joker notes absently.
"Don't ya think we should... you know...?" he gestures vaguely to their remaining teammates.
Panther is seated on one of the chairs, forearms resting on her thighs with hands clasped together. She avoids making direct eye contact, pretends she doesn't care what they're saying. Though Joker knows her acting skills left much to the imagination. Fox on the other hand had abandoned the seat a handful of minutes back, leaning against the wall. His body language refuses to betrays his fatigue. Pretending he was okay just for the sake of the Phantom Thieves... typical Fox.
Mona, Noir, and Queen suffered the least of the brunt from their recent excursion, opting to scout ahead with Oracle for their next target while everyone else had been granted at least ten minutes to regain their strength. Ten was easier, he decided, because the number sounded bigger than something like five. If it appealed to the mind, they could kill something as short as ten minutes. How odd the mind worked.
"If we stop today, we'll have to put in twice the effort tomorrow," Joker counters. "Those requests come in every day."
Skull exhales, tapping the toe of his foot against the pavement. "I get it, but the Shadow back there gave us hell," he pauses, as if he's carefully selecting each word. "I ain't doubting your decisions as leader either."
The unspoken loyalty in Skull's voice should be enough to comfort him. They followed him into Mementos and back, allowed him to make the calls and sign away their lives all because they believed him. Faith in one person, however, could only go so far, and Joker wonders what could shake this foundation of trust between them. Skull allowed himself to be guided by his heart. If Joker placed logic over 'what was right', maybe Skull would leave him.
It was a curious thing to wonder.
"We're back."
Joker's eyebrows furrow as the remainder of his team emerges from escalator. Oracle keeps her gaze downcast and Noir takes the seat adjacent to Panther. There's a tension between him and them that he isn't quite sure how to crack.
"Three targets," Queen reports tiredly, her arms folded. "and it seems there are two more on the floor after that."
"We'll definitely need more energy if we're gonna continue," Mona chips in. "They're a lot stronger than the last bunch."
He listens. It would be rude to ignore all their efforts. Five targets within range, an unknown amount lying beyond the two floors they searched. "We'll go to the next floor, rest, then continue."
Much like Skull, they hesitate. He's not surprised. "I understand you want to finish the requests..." Queen starts slowly. "We should really return home, Joker. You exhaust us now and none of us will have the energy to continue tomorrow. We can take care of the three Shadows, but no more."
"Not all of us need to be here." he says bluntly.
Mona frowns up at him. "Joker, these Shadows are nothing like we've fought before. They're stronger. Even against four of us plus Oracle's buffs, they're going to put up a fight."
His jaw tightens, teeth clipping at the tip of his tongue. A familiar well of frustration inflates in his gut. How could none of them see this was their life now, or rather just as important as the life they had as students? The protest sits in his mouth, prepared for taking off when Mona interjects a second time.
"Besides, I..." discomfort flickers across his face, head drooping. "...I feel a bit odd."
...What?
"What?" Joker says. 'What's wrong?' he wants to ask, and yet, something stills his tongue.
"I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the generous amount of Shadows crawling around, but I can't help feeling on edge, like something's going to come out at us."
"Would it be better to split up?"
Joker hears Oracle push from the seat before her voice reaches his ears. "M-Mona's not feeling well," she trips over her own words, hands tightened into fists. "I was thinking we could have that doctor look at him since you know her..."
"It's not that serious! Besides, she's not a vet— n-not to imply that I'm a cat or anything..." Mona trails off. It's as if there's a wedge between them, cutting off proper communication from one person to the other. Joker has overcome many physical obstacles, but this intangible wall proves difficult. "I probably just need some rest, that's all."
He can't put two pieces together if they were going to beat around the bush. "What happened while you were scouting?" he asks. It's a simple question that would only need a simple answer.
"Mona-chan," Noir's voice weaves over to him. She chews her lower lip. "He lost control, or I guess you could say he 'lost the transformation'. We were thrown out of the Mona bus, and we can't go very far on foot, so..."
Skull curses. "Shit... you guys alright?"
"Mona?" Panther frowns, and Mona flinches beneath her concerned gaze.
"Don't worry about me, Panther," he assures through bruised pride. "I'll be fine tomorrow." Unspoken: I hope, or so Joker assumes.
Mona didn't just 'lose a transformation'. His refusal to admit the true story before his teammates was not unexpected either. For such a small body, he housed much dignity and confidence in his skills. Having Oracle bring to light a blemish in his reflection did little to help, stoking the pitiful embers that was his pride until they grew into hungry flames.
Joker could not blame him; weaknesses were repulsive, and each one of them had one.
Pride, loyalty, love, and devotion would destroy all of them if they were not careful.
It's a good thing Joker is.
"Hey, don't get the wrong idea!" Mona snaps at him, foot stomping against the stone floor. "I don't want to leave because I'm not feeling well, alright? I just think pulling back for the sake of everyone else is the better idea. You can't keep driving your team into the ground, and in case you haven't noticed, we're completely out of Takemi's medicine too."
An abundance of pride that would do them all well if he were to share it.
Leaving now would mean having to search for the five Shadows again coupled with several more requests to add on to today's batch. He already feels the stress of reading through the Phansite, of the endless barrage of Mishima Yuuki's messages.
From Queen and Fox's silent staring to Oracle and Noir's hesitant gazes, Joker knows he doesn't stand much of a fight against majority rule.
Next time, he would settle for going by himself.
"Right, sorry," he mutters, mind scrabbling for more words. "We'll go home, but we can't do this again tomorrow."
There is no need to explain, not when nobody questions him, and Joker cannot respond to suspicious frowns. He almost feels the questions clamoring at the back of their teeth. He knows they wish to demand where his head is, why they were being pushed so hard. But he does not hold answers capable of evoking level-headed responses from any of them.
Pushing through a brief film of reluctance, they retrace their steps. His feet ache, but he's not willing to ask Mona to transform. The last thing he needed was for everyone to hurt themselves and be unable to navigate the rest of the way out of Mementos.
"Couldn't we all just ride in Necronomicon?" Skull grumbles.
Oracle's voice floats through their ears. "Nice try; there's only room for one up here." Without the Mona bus, she had no reason to be on the ground with them. It was better for her to navigate from a safe distance. "Don't worry; we'll be out of here soon."
"That's what you said three floors ago..."
"Should've rested up a bit more at that last save point!"
They dissolve into childish banter for a handful of seconds before realizing they're too tired to have a full-on debate about the workings of a flying Persona. The look on Panther's face is nothing short of amused before she nudges Skull in the arm, telling him to stop distracting Oracle from her work.
Noir sticks by Mona's side, eyebrows pressed together in worry despite his assurances that he's fine. Queen looks just as convinced as she does. She glances back at Joker, but he doesn't return her gaze. They could discuss this once they arrived in Tokyo, maybe split whatever horrid bill Takemi would place on the counter for them to pay towards.
Or in Joker's case, consume an extra cup of questionable medicine for compensation.
The walls have shed their scarlet coloring by the time Fox speaks to him. They're both a few good steps behind the rest of the team when it happens. "You've changed."
Joker blinks at him. "I feel the same as ever."
"Is that so?" Fox mutters, disappointment rushing through his eyes. As if Joker is supposed to know exactly what he was talking about! "Your orders are stricter, you push us through exhaustion, and you came in less prepared than you had yesterday."
Annoyance pricks at him. "I wasn't aware you were taking notes."
"Do not take that the wrong way. I am simply worried about you given how uncharacteristically you have been acting, and I am more than aware of the task at hand. It places a great deal of stress on all of us, but I imagine you carry the brunt of it," he steps aside, allows Joker to walk up the dead escalator before him. "I want you to know that I'm here for you, as is everyone else. Should you need to pass an errand to once of us, we would be more than happy to oblige."
"It would have been too much to ask one of you to help steal those last five hearts," Joker says, unintending to mean offense. Apparently, it isn't the best wording.
"We would be willing to help in a more realistic manner," Fox responds slowly, a sharper edge to his words. "Had I more stamina, I would have gone with you into the depths, but I too feel myself waning."
He watches his teammates from the back. Their feet drag, some wiping at their forehead as best they can with the masks plastered to their faces. Out of all of them, Mona's lagging movements showcase his struggling.
Joker's sudden guilt is only intensified when he meets Fox's gaze. Difficult to read, he thinks, unable to stop the pang of frustration in his heart. Why couldn't he read him as easily as he could Skull or Queen?
What is your weakness, Fox?
"Sorry," he apologizes for a second time that day. "I'm grateful you want to help though." His words are true, but Fox regards him warily, and Joker can no longer look at him.
Despite his feeble attempt to mend his slip-up from the safe room, Mona protests when he offers to carry him.
He doesn't say anything after that, not until their scarlet surroundings ripple like water, melting into the dull colors of the Shibuya station. Slowly, noises surge in and out of his ears from human voices to the roaring of trains as they sprint loudly on their metal tracks. The MetaNav welcomes their return in its feminine voice, and Akira tries not to grimace. Sickeningly sweet of it to continue aiding them, disgusting to think of where the app came from, or rather who it came from.
They needn't concern themselves with that however...
"Boy, I'm beat..." Ryuji exhales loudly, collapsing against the wall.
"We did have a few close calls today," Makoto chimes in. Her eyes dart to the clock hanging on the subway walls. "It's evening already. We should probably get Morgana looked at and then return home," she pauses, cautiously looking to Akira. "That is unless you have something else that needs taken care of."
Akira is not the one who responds.
"I'm fine, actually. Just tired," Morgana meows, back leg scratching at his ear. "I guess it was just the air of Mementos that wore me down."
Ryuji scoffs. "Uhhh, yeah, ain't buying that. Though now that I think about it, I don't know any nearby vets that we could go to. 'Sides, they're pretty expensive if you just rush in on emergency."
"I don't need a vet cause I'm not a cat!" so says Morgana, the 'human' with black fur all over his body. "Akira knows that doctor in Yongen, so he can take me there with Futaba if that'll make you feel better."
"We just want to make sure you're okay," Haru says.
"And I am, really! Or at least now I am," Morgana sighs, tail and ears drooping. "But you shouldn't be worrying for something that could turn out to be nothing."
The proper thing to do would offer Morgana a ride in his bag. After his little spat in Mementos about being carried, Akira wonders if it's the right thing to say at this moment. Morgana's body is slack from fatigue, muscles tightening the minute someone insisted on him being cared for. They could use a trip to Takemi's clinic with how little their supplies are. There was also the treasure they had to dispose of as well...
With the day still young, maybe he could return the ones that had a place to belong.
Morgana, medicine, returning or keeping treasure – everything came together despite knowing such tasks would carry him into the night. Returning early had done them more harm than good. All that was missing was the influx of messages to clog his inbox.
He too is tired, but he could've continued unlike the rest of them.
Akira hopes his frustration doesn't lace into his voice when he responds. "We'll meet back here tomorrow on my call. I'll gather what we need tonight so we can be better prepared."
"And what are you going to do if you run yourself dry?" Makoto questions.
"I'm fine," he insists. They look at him. He's had enough of their cautious eyes for one day. The pressure building on his shoulders was not alleviated by their worried-fretful concoction spilled into their faces. "You all did well today."
"Wait," Ann steps forward, fingers tightened around the strap of her school bag. "Hey, Akira, is there something wrong?" she shifts her weight to one side, as if doing so would help jostle her mind. "You know you have us, right? If something was bothering you, you could talk to anyone."
Something bothering him? If the weight of stealing hearts at an intensity thrice as hard could be considered 'wrong', then she struck the nail on the head. He dismisses her. "Don't worry about me."
"That's not gonna help..." Ryuji murmurs.
Nothing I can do there. He could talk to them, after they so willingly offered to be attentive ears to a wreath of troubles. It wasn't something they didn't know anyway, was it? Perhaps one day he would take them up on that offer. For now, he meets them with silence.
"We should get going," Makoto says tiredly. "You'll contact us when you're ready to head out, right?"
He can only nod. So, he does.
Everyone splits up, fatigue or reluctance or both clinging to their feet as they go their separate ways. He swears Yusuke looks over his shoulder at him, but he thinks nothing more of the matter.
"Um..." Futaba hums from where she is crouched next to Morgana. Even though they avoid direct eye contact, Akira knows she is talking to him. "Are you going to come back to Leblanc tonight?"
But Morgana answers anyway. "You haven't been there in a while, have you?"
Akira frowns, puzzled. "I was there two days ago—"
"You know what I mean," Morgana counters, the tip of his tail flicking. "I meant to stay the night. It's gotten a lot quieter in case you haven't noticed."
"I was sure he'd appreciate the silence."
Futaba shakes her head, hand patting Morgana absentmindedly, effectively cutting off his words. "Sojiro's worried about you too. He used to ask me where you are at nights, but I never really know what to say. I think he noticed that I had no clue either, so he stopped asking," her eyes are narrowed behind her glasses. "Akira, when are you going to come home?"
The word 'home' was not something he would associate with Leblanc. Once upon a time, he'd be more than happy to call that humble café a safe place. But he couldn't see Leblanc the same way Futaba or Morgana saw it. His 'home' was in a 'middle-class' house teetering on the edge of 'lower-class' out in the countryside. The clam that would wrap him up within the walls of the café had faded, much like the faded paint on Leblanc's bathroom walls.
"Leblanc is not home," he echoes his thoughts, unmindful when Futaba flinches at the apathy in his voice.
"I-I know it's not your home-home...," she pushes herself to her feet, gripping her hands and wringing them with shaky fingers. A nervous habit, much like Ryuji's neck-scratching.
Morgana's ear twitches. He makes no move towards Akira. "Wherever you're going, just be careful." (Astonishment flutters inside his chest. Was Morgana truly going to let this go so easily?) "Come on, Futaba, Sojiro's probably waiting for you."
She nods, an affirmative noise rumbling in the back of her throat. Her gaze, much like Yusuke, lingers on him as well before her feet carry her away. A part of him worries that she'll be struck by the anxiety of being lost in a sea of people. Futaba had gotten much better with forcing herself outside, but Akira could sense her nerves were strung tightly.
"I don't know where you're staying," Morgana continues. Ah, so he wasn't dropping it. "But it can't be better than Leblanc. You're worrying everyone, Akira. I know you tend to carry the load, but Yusuke and Ann are right when they say we can help out too."
He rolls his shoulder when the strap of his schoolbag slants, bringing it closer to his neck. "Don't be."
Morgana's fur bristles, a small growl of irritation bubbling from his mouth. "You won't talk anymore either," he huffs. "Sometimes I hang back like this, and you go off to these places that I can't follow. I don't sense the Metaverse, but something similar—"
"Stop following me," Akira dismisses sharply. At the jolt of shock that trembles Morgana, he reels himself in. "Sorry, I..." he pinches the space between his eyebrows, eyes screwing shut briefly. "You guys wouldn't understand," because you can't see it. "but I know what I'm doing, and all I ask is that you trust me."
Silence weaves in the cracks between them. In just a handful of seconds, it grows and expands, threatening to break intangible walls that would undoubtedly lead down a path that could involve yelling and he already looks like a lunatic speaking to a cat in public as it is. Shouting would only make it twice as worse.
Morgana's attention snags on something behind Akira, and he looks over his shoulder. Futaba's bright hair and unique attire is easy to pick out of a sea of people. "I gotta get her home. We're not done talking about this though, so don't think you're off the hook."
"Get on the trains before the rush hour." Akira says.
"I know."
He waits, watches Futaba scoop Morgana into her arms before diving back into the crowd, unmoving until they're out of sight. Akira would have to prepare something to tell Morgana; there was no way to explain the Velvet Room to someone who couldn't see it.
But hadn't they all been in that room once?
...He had things to do, and no time to ponder over the potential of selective amnesia. He's almost afraid to mention the existence of the Velvet Room. It'd be much better if they all thought him 'daydreaming' in the Metaverse than ever step foot into that circular room stuffed with prison cells and dyed carpeting and walls befitting of the room's name.
Untouchable's neon green sign is alive with life, and he has at least a few more hours until Munehisa Iwai closes shop.
His hand barely grazes the knob when a familiar voice reaches out to him. He could continue to ignore it, walk into the shop and pretend he only heard the bell and not some young girl's voice.
"My master wishes to speak with you," Lavenza insists, the jail door swinging open loudly. Nobody seems to hear or see it – they never did. "Your options are limited tonight, trickster."
She too has changed. Not just physically, her current form the result of a fusion between two young girls with matching eye patches, but the light in her eyes is snuffed out. There's a distant melancholy to them, something that begs Akira to... to... he isn't entirely sure. But he sees it again when he steps into the void of the Velvet Room. Her careful footsteps are his only warning before dark blues and purples swim into his vision, flickering into red and black before attaining their normal color.
When he comes to, he's lying on an all too familiar wooden plank.
A faint ringing vibrates off the prison cell walls. It curls and stretches like the waves of a quiet ocean, whispering of days long gone. He doesn't know if the residents can hear it. No one ever craned their neck, no one looked to him with furrowed eyebrows and said, "Did you hear something?".
Over time, he found himself concluding it was all connected to his first step into madness.
It is here, away from the drone of city life and from familiar faces, where he can think. There's a yearning deep inside him that aches for the sunlight of a new day, of the strong scent of coffee practically drilled into the walls of the tiny café hidden in an alley of Yongen-Jaya. Dare he say, he's come to miss the cacophony of the Tokyo train stations and the gurgling of Shujin Academy as students and teachers rush from one destination to another.
Kurusu Akira can't return to what's been given up.
The devil who claims he is their God waits patiently at his desk. His lips are drawn in a permanent sneer, teeth like broken glass. At his side, Lavenza stands with a stare as blank as stone. The Velvet Room has not changed since his last visit or the one before that.
He can't bring himself to mind, even as he pushes himself to his feet. They've extended him the courtesy of forgoing the chains and prison shirt, at least: A taunting, placating relief among the many faults of this realm.
"Exactly one-hundred hearts stolen," the false God says, words gritting. "Well done," the praise rings hollow, failing to drown out the ringing only his ears can hear. "I have kept my end of the bargain; the Phantom Thieves still exist in the distorted hearts of man. However..."
The girl cradles the tome in her left arm. Pages imprinted with unreadable texts hastily swish to the left, in the same manner as a child flipping through a picture book. "...There is one concern my master has," she says, voice vapid. "The sins of man have been stolen from each Palace the Phantom Thieves infiltrated. To avoid more Palaces, we have had you collect the hearts of the masses, but there seems to be a miscalculation."
'...A new Palace?' his mind supplies when his mouth cannot.
"You should make use of the app you and your team have been given. Lavenza," (she claps the tome shut, and he sees a flicker of emotion across her delicate face. It contrasts greatly from her earlier demeanor.) "is to only give you the necessary Personas to help complete this task. You understand that just as well, don't you, my dear?"
Her eyes bore into Akira.
He avoids her pinning
(pleading)
gaze.
"Of course, Yaldabaoth."
"Good," he says dismissively, fingers steepled. "Now as for our Wildcard, allowing a Palace to erupt is unacceptable. Therefore, you know what you must do."
He could practically see the bewildered stares of the other Phantom Thieves against the backdrop of closed eyes. They were tired, annoyed, appalled as he guided them back to Mementos, and they would do it again and again and again until they all dropped from exhaustion. One by one or maybe in clumps. Who knew?
Lavenza's eyes slide to the floor when he speaks. The ringing fades from his surroundings, dissolving once more into the background. "I do."
The edges of his rough laughter cuts into the unsettling atmosphere. Once more, he looks to Lavenza. "We've decided to help you this time. As a reward for consistent work, we'll grant you a power unlike any other." She hands him the book, and he lays it on its back. Its pages tremble as the cover is thrown back by some invisible force. "There is a small fee. You should not underestimate the privilege I am going to give you," he looks up, sneer twisting and breaking his mouth. "Come."
Akira really doesn't want to, but his feet urge him on. He's signed a contract, he's taken one too many Personas from these beings, and he could not unstick his tongue from declining.
The tome is open to a being with a silver body made of unequal rectangles with a sheen that reminds him of the armor worn in medieval tales. Its square face has no eyes, but it stares back even though life has yet to fill its 'lungs'. He cannot make out the text that lines the top of the page and it does little to quell the unease bubbling in his veins.
He does, however, recognize the symbols lining the margin. This Persona excelled in physical and almighty spells, a miniature God of destruction.
"To summon Saklas, I require something special. No amount of yen will cover the expense you will need to bring it from the pages."
Yaldabaoth's stare is patronizing, and Akira's stomach recoils in anger. He prayed on Akira's anger and frustration. Who the person was that Yaldaboath's physical body truly belonged to, Akira cannot say, but it does not make it any less unsettling. Had the true Igor foolishly signed a contract with the God of Control? Or were they just unlucky?
"What is it you want?" he asks.
Dark amusement twitches his face. "So you are interested. You would be signing one more contract – something between you and I to further cement the deal. Should you cast away the Persona for good, then I will relinquish the connection."
His teeth grit together. "Cut to the point."
Yaldabaoth grins.
It's infuriating.
"Trickster, I require one thing," he snaps his fingers and a plethora of tarot cards materialize into existence, whispering across the wooden table as they are laid out before them. Lavenza's sudden gasp gives off warning signs in his brain, but his attention is dragged back to Yaldabaoth. "I will allow you to decide which arcana you wish to break in order to bring forth Saklas."
His heart stutters before it drops into his stomach. He hears his foot scuff against the rug as he stumbles back. Each card waits patiently beneath the weak light of the Velvet Room. Akira blinks, hard. "I don't understand."
"Shall I choose for you then?" he chuckles, gloved finger tapping the corner of a card. Akira cannot see the name, only that it has the number IX.
He lunges forward, yanks The Hermit card closer to his side of the desk. "Don't touch that," he snaps. Yaldabaoth only coughs his laughter. "I don't need this Persona. I can steal as many hearts as I want without it."
"How arrogant," but he returns to clasping his fingers as he always did, hooked nose seeming to drape down his hands. What a creepy abomination of a man. "The pace you are going at will not last you long in the palace of the people. I estimate you can only steal another two hundred hearts before your exhaustion catches up to you and the rest of the Phantom Thieves. A Wildcard is powerful, but even you have your limits. You cannot change others on your own."
Lavenza's gaze snaps to him. "Trickster, if I may suggest the Strength arcana—"
"This is not your decision, Lavenza," Yaldabaoth's voice dips into malice. "You would be wise not to offer yourself as a sacrifice."
Her mouth trembles, fists tightening at her side before she backpedals, helplessly looking at the cards. "To sacrifice an arcana for a Persona... I sense tremendous power from Saklas, but I wonder if you'd be willing to take such a risk. Placing your trust in," she pauses. "in... a single Persona, is unwise."
Placing your trust in a God is unwise.
"Then you can continue to use the limited power you have now and watch helplessly as your team crumbles," Yaldabaoth's words hold an unmeasurable weight to them. It is one that Akira does not want to test. "You care about your friends, do you not? Someone worthy of carrying my contract should never allow their heart to dictate their decisions."
"What happens to the arcana that is sacrificed?" Akira asks instead. Matter of the heart be damned; he didn't have time for any of this nonsense. "What are you going to do to them?"
"Nothing," Yaldabaoth answers, and Akira is shocked to find there is no hint of a lie on his face, a lack of ulterior motive lying within the voice of this devil. "You will lose the arcana, therefore be unable to summon the Ultimate Persona, but in its place will be Saklas," he slides a handful of the cards closer to Akira. "Since you are having a difficult time choosing, perhaps you would like to select from my pile."
The light glints off the sheen of the tarot cards. Each one – Chariot, Lovers, Emperor, Moon, Star, Sun – is not something he could so carelessly throw to a God. But Akira knows he cannot risk losing someone capable of using Personas, and he cannot bring himself to imagine a scenario where his friends fall one by one. If it meant severing ties with someone else to keep them all safe, then—
"This one," he doesn't look, other than he knows he is pointing farthest from the ones associated with the Phantom Thieves.
Lavenza's apathy does little to ease his mind.
A snap of Yaldabaoth's fingers and the cards dissolve from existence, disappearing into some pocket space Akira would never have access to. He holds the Moon Arcana between his index and middle finger, slipping it into the gutter of the book. The yellow-tinted pages cough up dust before they glow, ink burning harsher and bolder until they ooze into the spine. It touches the edge of the card then freezes.
Agony rips through him, biting in his heart and lancing through his body. He catches himself on the edge of the desk before his fingers slip there too, and his throat burns from the fire that practically crawls through his body. His scream bounces back at him, effectively cutting off the minute the tome is clamped shut. The shock of the sudden waves of pain steel his limbs, numb even though he pushes himself to his elbows, breath sawing in and out of him.
"You..." he heaves, breath shuddering and breaking. "You didn't... warn me it'd do that."
It is not Yaldabaoth who answers but rather a being about half times more his height, standing behind both chair and desk. The image from the book brought to life, Saklas' unseeing face bores into him. 'I am Saklas. Do not be deterred by the temptations of humanity, and my power will be yours.' and, much like every other Persona, it explodes in particles of white light. 'Summon me if you desire power.'
Akira shudders against the carpet, hand pressing to his chest as if to make sure his heart is still there. He practically feels it bumping against his ribcage, blood pounding loudly in his head as it thrashes against his brain.
The exhaustion from earlier begins to settle in, and he finds himself uncaring if they decided to leave him there on the rug. Come get his unmoving body if it would be such an issue. Maybe rip out another arcana or two if they truly felt like it, damn them. Aside from the burning mere seconds ago, Akira doesn't feel any different, and in that moment, he's too drained to care.
Consequences would always be dealt with, but he can choose when and where to deal with them. Lying half-conscious on the floor of the Velvet Room was not the place for it.
"A wise decision, trickster..." Yaldabaoth says ominously. "You have my full word that you will not regret it."
Lavenza only watches silently, her face almost cadaverous for a reason Akira is unable to discern.
His voice and her stare are the last things Akira wants to hear or see before succumbing to a world of sleep. But he never had much choice when it came to anything in his life.
note: due to ff net's terms of services clashing with the nature of this story, the rest of the fanfic can be found and followed in the following link. i am uploading it to for archive's purposes and to prevent fakes. unfortunately, i cannot update here since it contains adult content in future chapters:
remove the brackets
ar[chi]veofourown.[c]om/works/19347646/chapters/46028080