"Only courage in the face of doubt can lead one to the answer."

Nyx Avatar, Persona 3.

"Stocke?" Rosch said. "You sure you okay? You don't look so good…"

Stocke's blood ran cold in his veins. The walls stretched and stretched to oblivion, and a strange blackness oozed out of the corners of the gym, but it was Rosch's nonchalant tone that chilled Stocke the most. He doesn't see anything of this. How could it be possible? Could the Shadow be so powerful? Stocke gulped down, a lump forming in his throat; if so, how could he even think of defeating it?

The shadow Rosch cast behind him twisted, its edges growing jagged, sharp. Stocke watched in silent horror as it spread the entirety of the wall. Claw-like tendrils sprang from the main body of the shadow; they hung above Rosch's head, sharpening in the shape of a dozen blades. Stocke took a step backward despite himself, his hands curling into fists.

Rosch dropped the ball he was carrying. "What's up, Stocke? You're freaking me out. Stop it, man."

"Rosch," Stocke managed to croak—his mouth had gone so dry, "behind you. That… that thing…"

"What?" Stocke's friend glanced up and down at the wall behind him. He was frowning when he turned to face Stocke again. "I don't see what you're going on about. I should get you home. You really don't seem so well."

Now the shadow's outstretched tendrils were twisting around Rosch, writhing around his sole remaining arm and tightening across his chest. Rosch's features slackened, except for a muscle jumping near the corner of his mouth. Even if he could not see them, surely, he could sense their hold on him.

Stocke hissed out a curse, backing away until his feet caught on something. He stumbled, and would have fallen down had he not grabbed the closest thing his hand could find. Stocke's fingers tightened around the object and he realized with a start that it was the railing on a hospital bed. Stocke fought the urge to rub his eyes, knowing it was not some mirage that would dissipate the instant he looked away. A monitor by the hospital bed beeped weakly, a long thin line flashing and jumping along an invisible someone's heartbeat. A bright light illuminated an operating table splashed with blood. The red dripped to the floor, where it dyed crimson the shards of glass and the scraps of twisted metal that were coiling upwards from the ground. Tire tracks ran across the gym floor, and a trail of old, dried-up blood followed the black marks. Dark memories flooded back to Stocke. In his mind's eye, Eruca's pale arm dangled from the black bag where they had put her corpse. The bile rose to his mouth, and Stocke looked away from the scene of the carnage, shaking from head to toe.

And Rosch stood amidst all of this, his eyes empty and glazed over.

The dark tendrils sank into Rosch's chest. Sweat beaded over his forehead, yet he did not move, did not utter a sound. Dark shapes slithered out of the corners of the gym. The black creatures looked the same as the ones who had attacked Stocke in that alleyway, not long ago, but their masks were purple rather than blue, the top part shaped like a crown.

The three creatures glided briefly towards Rosch, before swirling into the air, dissolving into black mist. When they came into view again, their appearance had changed. It was now a trio of fully-armored knights mounted on ghostly destriers that drifted to Rosch's side. Over their plate mail, they wore basketball jerseys in St. Noah's colours. Behind the purple masks, no hint of emotion showed.

"Dammit!" Stocke's throat was tight with fear. "Rosch, get out of there!"

Rosch seemed in a daze, as if he was struggling out of a bad dream. "What? Why?"

Stocke tried to shout again, but there was a loud clang as the Shadows lowered their lances, the tips directly aiming for Stocke. His stomach did a somersault when he noticed their left arms were missing.

"Dammit!" Stocke growled as the ghostly knights soared towards him. He grabbed the railing of the hospital bed and shoved it, the wheels giving a screech as the bed sped towards the three Shadows. Stocke gritted his teeth and ran; out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Shadows ram his lance into the hospital bed. The bed exploded, the metal shrieking as it twisted and splintered.

"Oh, hell no," Stocke said under his breath. He dashed into the storage room and grabbed the thing nearest to a weapon he could find—an old hockey stick. His hands tightened around the shaft. It was better than nothing, he supposed…

"S-Stocke?" The weakness of Rosch's voice nearly startled Stocke out of his skin. It was so thin, so feeble, nowhere near the deep bass he'd learned to know over the past years. "W-What's going on…? I feel so… tired…"

The three knights sidled closer to Rosch, their tall forms looming over him. The greater Shadow had grown in size. Its shape was more akin to a human, now, and the top of its head was fashioned in the outline of a crown—a broken crown, with chipped or missing prongs.

Useless, useless, useless, a chorus of voices rippled across the growing vastness of the gym. Useless broken cripple… You're useless, useless, useless…

"What?" Stocke shouted. His hands clenched so tightly around the hockey stick that his knuckles went white. "Shut the hell up! Rosch, you know that's not true!"

Rosch's eyes were blank, glassy. He said nothing.

"Snap out of it, Rosch!"

Stocke's exclamation drew the three knights' attentions back to him. Two of them turned their faceless stares towards him, and before Stocke could move or speak they charged, their lances ready to skewer him on the spot.

Stocke's feet seemed to be rooted on the ground. Was there nothing he could do? What was it that the twins had said? Something about his Persona. Baldr, Stocke remembered. His name is Baldr.

Stocke snarled at the three creatures, raising his hockey stick in a semblance of a battle stance. "Help me!" he cried. "Persona!"

There was the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of glass breaking. A circle of blue light appeared under Stocke's feet as a figure materialized in front of him. Baldr cut through the air with his fiery sword and a wall of flames flared to life, stopping the two knight-shadows in their tracks. Stocke threw up his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the heat and the blinding white light surrounding Baldr.

When the fire died down, the light dimmed as well. Stocke squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at Baldr. My Persona, he thought, his heart hammering into his chest. The red-clad warrior's hair was not golden as he had once thought; rather, each strand seemed to be made of pure shimmering flame, radiating with an innate sense of raw power. His face was obscured in shadows, the lower part hidden by the high collar of his uniform. Only his eyes, blazing like two pure blue stars, could be seen. The elegant cut of Baldr's attire brought to mind a high-ranked military officer, or rather, a soldier prince of lore, the dark red fabric offset by a trim of gold along the edges. Yet, the cloak that billowed behind him was torn and tattered in some places and a wide array of belts were fastened around his limbs. Baldr dropped into a battle stance, his shield propped forward, his sword gleaming despite the deepening darkness.

There was no hesitation as Baldr leaped forward, bringing his fiery blade down on the closest knight. The other knight thrust his lance forward, but Baldr caught it with his shield. A crack ran down the length of the weapon and the lesser Shadow staggered backward.

Stocke took the precious seconds his Persona had given him to make a run for it, heading directly towards Rosch. The latter had not moved a muscle since the battle between the Shadows and Stocke's Persona had begun. He was pale—paler than Stocke had ever seen him, the skin stretched tautly against his cheekbones, dark circles deepening beneath his blue eyes.

Stocke heard a hiss behind him and he shot to glance to where his Persona was battling the two Shadows. Baldr stood alone in triumph, the defeated forms of his two foes dissolving into black mist. Stocke turned his attention back to Rosch; only one enemy remained. Him and whatever the hell's behind Rosch…

Stocke took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. He understood what he'd have to do. Baldr glided over to him, awaiting instructions, like the silent guardian that he was. The two exchanged a glance, but of course Stocke didn't need to voice his plan aloud. The Persona headed straight for Rosch, his blue eyes ablaze with determination. He's me and I'm him. It was an oddly exhilarating feeling, almost as if he saw and heard and felt the world through the senses of another.

The lesser Shadow was the final opponent Baldr had to face before he could reach Rosch. Stocke let out a curse as the knight blocked Baldr's advance, deflecting the fiery blade's trajectory with a swipe of its lance. Baldr flipped backward to avoid the weapon as the shadow thrust it forward. The Persona hadn't been fast enough; the tip of the spear grazed Baldr's side. Stocke felt a searing pain in the very same spot and he doubled over with a scream.

From his spot, Rosch twitched. "Stocke? Stocke, 's that you?" His voice was barely audible—the air was still filled with proclamations of useless, useless, you're useless, worth nothing, nothing at all…

Stocke struggled back to his feet, snarling despite the pain. "Dammit, you idiot! I told you not to listen to them! Think for yourself! You're not as dumb as you think you are. You hear me?"

As he finished his sentence, Baldr lunged forward, flame bursting from his sword. The blade shredded the knight Shadow's plate mail as if it were plain paper. The monster exploded in a black mist.

Stocke clutched at his side. "Is that you've been thinking through all of these years?" A part of him was shameful that he had never noticed. "Why have you never told us?"

The voices grew to a feverish pitch. Burden, I'm a burden, they clamoured, can't do anything for myself, dragging all of you down, I'm useless, useless…

"Rosch" Stocke clamoured over the noises. "Listen to me. Look at me!"

It must have taken Rosch all the strength remaining in his body, but his gaze did meet Stocke's.

"That thing behind you," Stocke said, panting, "it's lying. Don't listen to it, dammit!"

A bit of light was coming back to Rosch's eyes. "No… it's all me… it's all mine…" Still, he craned his neck to look behind him. Fear and shock rippled through his face as he finally saw the creature that had sunk its claws into him. Rosch opened his mouth to scream—

—except it was the Shadow that let out a shriek. The sound reverberated across the emptiness of the gym, tearing at Stocke's eardrums, making the gym equipment and the hospital furniture shake from the sheer power of the vibration. The Shadow's tendrils receded from Rosch's body and the latter tumbled forward like a puppet that had its strings suddenly cut.

"Rosch!" Stocke cried out. He ran to his friend's side, reaching for Rosch's wrist. The pulse was still there but it was faint. "Stay with me, Rosch!"

Darkness loomed over the two of them. The Shadow was now veiled by a thickening, darkening mist. Rosch's gaze focused weakly on the creature. A pair of yellow eyes peered down at him from the dark cloud.

Don't you want to change it? boomed a deep voice very much like Rosch's. The sound of it echoed in Stocke's very bones. Don't you want to change it?

"I… I have no idea what the hell you're talking about…" Rosch managed. "Just… make it stop… I'm so… tired…"

I can make it go away. The pain. The anger. The humiliation. Don't you want to change it? Don't you want us to be whole again?

Stocke tightened his hold on Rosch. "Shut up. Rosch, don't listen—"

Rosch's eyes widened in surprise—and in relief, Stocke was horrified to find. "Is it… possible? Can you… really…?"

There was silence from the creature. And then…

…screeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEECH!

Stocke's hands flew to cover his ears and he gnashed his teeth in pain. The shriek tore across the entirety of the room. The glass panels on the hospital monitors shattered into a thousand pieces, and the gym equipment was smashed against the walls. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his jaw so he would not scream.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see that the mist that once enveloped the creature had evaporated.

The Shadow was gigantic, standing perhaps as thrice Rosch's height. It only had three limbs—two skeletal legs that shook from under the weight of the creature's unproportionally large torso and midriff, and a single arm that was nothing but skin on bones. Dark purple veins ran across the chalk-white limb; they bulged a little every time the Shadow raised its weapon, a lance that was as tall as its own body. A metal collar was fastened around the monster's neck, hiding the lower part of its face. Other mismatched bits of armour protected its body, but the metal was rusted at places and falling apart in others. Beneath a broken crown, a mane of dirty and tangled hair covered most of the Shadow's visage; only one single golden eye managed to peer through long, unkempt bangs. Still, Stocke felt pinned down under the stare.

The left side of the Shadow's body was thicker and larger than its other half. Metal debris and shards of glass were embedded in its left shoulder and in the stump where the left arm should have been. Every time the creature moved even slightly, blood squirted out of the wounds. The Shadow would shake and shriek as the blood dripped underneath it. Stocke couldn't imagine the pain it must have been in.

Rosch's body had gone stiff. His eyes could not leave the creature facing them. His mouth was open in a soundless scream. The Shadow began its slow advance, its movements uncertain, cumbersome. Stocke could feel the ground shaking under him with every of its steps.

Stocke inhaled sharply, putting Rosch's sole remaining arm around his neck and summoning all of his strength to lift him off the ground. "Baldr!" Stocke called out. "Cover our escape!"

The silent protector did as he was bid. He charged toward the Shadow, his shield set forward at an angle to deflect the monster's incoming weapon. Stocke dragged Rosch across the floor for a few feet, before a sharp pain piercing through one of his shoulders. Wincing, he took to his knees, glancing behind him. Baldr had been knocked back as well.

"Baldr!" Stocke shouted through grit teeth. A spell, he thought. I should have him cast a spell. His sword doesn't have enough range…

In response to Stocke's silent command, Baldr swept his sword into the air, making a wall of fire erupt from the ground. The Shadow let out a high-pitched screech, stopping dead in its tracks, but no flame managed to touch it. Dammit! Stocke swore. Still not close enough! Baldr was gathering the energy to cast another spell when bolts of blue began to crackle around the Shadow's large form. Stocke quickly understood what was going to happen, and he raised the hockey stick in front of him in a futile attempt to protect himself. The Shadow's lightning spell slithered its way towards him and Rosch.

There was a flash of red in front of Stocke. Baldr! The spell hit the Persona right in the chest. Both he and Stocke arched backward with a single scream that seemed to come from their two mouths at once. Pain scorched through Stocke and for a moment the world went white in front of his eyes.

Stocke could hear a loud boom-doom reverberating through the ground as the Shadow began to move once more. Stocke pushed himself off the floor with trembling arms. His head was swimming. He looked behind him. Rosch was on his knees, staring at the Shadow as it grew closer, his mouth hanging open as if he could not understand what was unfolding in front of his eyes.

With all his dwindling strength, Stocke crawled toward his friend. "Rosch… get out of here... Dammit, run when you still can…"

"I…" Rosch shook his head. "That thing hurt you..."

"That thing," Stocke growled, "is going to kill you if it gets its hands on you. Get up, Rosch. Run. I can fight it, but you can't." Stocke hoped Rosch would not hear the desperation in his voice. He wasn't even sure he would be able to land a single scratch on the creature.

"No," Rosch panted, "That thing's gonna kill you."

Before Stocke could reply, the large shadow of the creature was draping them both. Stocke swallowed back his fears and looked upon the Shadow with all the hate and revulsion he could muster.

Don't you want to change it? the Shadow's deep voice asked again. This time, it was slightly tremulous. The creature's torso was glistening with blood. Don't you want to change it?

Its long, gaunt arm was shaking from the effort of raising its lance once more. I can make the pain go away. I know your secret desires. You want me to change it. It keened shrilly as more blood poured out of its injuries. You want this to end… Just like me…

The realization hit Stocke. "The past. When you say you can change it, you mean you can change the past."

The creature threw its head backwards as it screamed. I can't, I can't, I CAN'T change the past! Its golden eye was no longer fixed upon Rosch; it was now quivering madly in its socket. But I want to change it, I NEED to change it!

With another shriek, the Shadow raised its now bloody lance over Stocke and Rosch. I can't change it, but I'll make you forget. It's what you want. You want it to end. You can't lie to me…

…I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME.

Silver and red streaked over Stocke's head as the tip of the lance came down. Stocke cried out for help as braced himself for the impact.

Baldr came in a rush of flames. The lance skewed the brave guardian's shoulder, yet it withstood the assault without flinching. Stocke grit his teeth—the pain was unbearable—before finally screaming at the top of his lungs, "Baldr! Get that bastard!"

The ball of flame exploded right into the Shadow's ghoulish face. Its screeches rippled across the gym as it fell backward, the flames still licking the front of its body. Baldr shrugged off the creature's weapon and the lance dissolved into fine black mist before it could even hit the ground.

The Shadow writhed and screamed. Behind Stocke, Rosch let out a grunt. Stocke turned to see that his friend was clutching his chest.

"You're… me?" Rosch said in a weak voice. His features were twisted with anguish and shame. "Yeah… yeah, I guess so."

The Shadow was crying out in agony. Rosch, still on the ground, crept closer to Stocke. His blue eyes were soft with pity. "Dammit, I didn't think I was this pathetic," Rosch said, wobbling to his feet. Stocke immediately went to help him up. "I'm really a piece of work, ain't I?"

"No," Stocke said. "I never thought so."

Rosch smiled sadly. "Yeah?" It was a single word, yet Stocke could hear years' worth of self-hatred in his friend's voice. "Well, I think I am."

"Rosch…"

Rosch limped toward the Shadow. The creature never seemed to notice him. It was still thrashing and moaning, looking half-mad with pain.

Rosch absentmindedly touched his empty sleeve. "I kept telling people I'd gotten better. That I'd learned to live with… this." He sighed. "Since everyone began to believe me, I thought it was true. When you keep telling yourself things, you start to think it's the truth, right? But I wasn't right." He jutted his chin at the Shadow. "I mean, you wouldn't be around, otherwise."

The creature became very still. But you want to change it. Change it so the accident never happened…

"'Course I'd like to change it!" Rosch all but roared. "Dammit, I'd change it in a heartbeat. But it won't happen. I'm dumb, but not that dumb." His single hand balled into a fist. "Besides, I'm still alive, which is more than I ever hoped for. I could have died, but I'm still here. I'm luckier than some people I know." He looked at his stump then to the Shadow. "So no, I don't want to change it. I'm… I'm good."

His words were only met with silence for a moment. A delicate blue light surrounded the Shadow's large form.

…thank you, the deep voice murmured. The blue light faded, and suddenly instead of the terrible blood-soaked creature that had been trying to kill them a mere moment ago, there stood a tall, proud-looking warrior clad in red armour. A few onyx stones were embedded in the crimson chest plate, forming the number four in old Imperial numerals. His helm was shaped like the head of a roaring lion and a thick golden man cascaded down his back. He had no left arm, but a large kite shield as tall as he was directly fastened to his stump. The Persona thrust his lance in the air in a salute before disappearing into a flicker of light.

"Tyr," Rosch said with wonder. "That's his name—wait, w-what the hell was that? How did I—whoa!"

Rosch had tumbled forward. Stocke rushed to catch his friend in his fall.

"What the hell was that?" Rosch repeated. "What just happened?!"

"Calm down, Rosch," Stocke said. His friend was still dreadfully pale. "Tyr—well, he's your Persona, I guess."

"My what?" Rosch's face screwed in pain. "Goddammit, my head feels like it's about to explode… what the hell…?"

"We can talk about this later," Stocke said as he helped Rosch towards the exit. "Let's just get you somewhere safe so you can rest." The trails of blood and bits of glass and debris had disappeared when the Shadow had been defeated, but the gym hadn't gone back to normal yet. The walls were still a garish shade of green and there was a lone hospital bed laying on its side next to the door. Stocke frowned; perhaps it would take some time before the Shadow's influence would be fully gone.

"Y-You don't need to carry me like that," Rosch mumbled when they were out of the gym. A bit of red was coming back to his cheeks. "What if someone sees us?"

Stocke stared at him. "Yeah? What then?"

Rosch snorted and rolled his eyes. "I forgot I was talking to you for a moment. You know, the only person in this school who's more socially inept than I am."

Stocke raised a brow but said nothing.

"Thanks, back then," Rosch finally said as they passed rows and rows of lockers. "You saved my skin, man."

"You'd have done the same for me," Stocke said bluntly. "So there's not need to thank me." It seemed to him that the corridor was stretching forever. "Actually, I should apologize." The next words were harder to say than Stocke would have believed it. "You… you were hurting and I never noticed. I never did do a damn thing about it."

"Oh, that." Rosch gave him a tired grin. "It's a bit of my fault, actually. You heard me back there. I thought that if I kept telling myself it wasn't a big deal, then I'd start to believe it. But I guess it was a bigger deal than I would have liked it to be."

"Rosch, losing an arm doesn't make you—"

"—it doesn't make me useless, no, but I sure felt like it." Rosch stopped walking. Stocke peered closely at his expression. "I'm not a bright kid and I'm not exactly good with people. And I really don't want to be a burden to my poor folks. So, I thought to go for the school team and win a scholarship, right? Then I would have gone to college and gotten myself a nice job. That's what I thought."

"Rosch, you can still—"

"—except that was my second choice. The thing I really wanted to do… well, I've never even told you or Sonja."

Now Stocke was truly stunned. "What was it?"

"What I really wanted… well, I wanted to join the forces." Rosch let out a laugh. "I thought to apply to Officer School. Wouldn't have that made my folks happy? I bet my pa would have been proud. I know he's always wanted to rise higher in the ranks. But now, I know that won't happen. I won't be a soldier and I won't make the college team. So where does this leave me, huh?"

Stocke was at a loss for words. "Rosch…"

"I've had years to make peace with it, yet I never did. I still don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. I'm not like you or Sonja. What can a dumb kid like me do?"

Stocke glared at him. "Lots of things. If you call yourself dumb again, then so help me, I'll drop you here and you'll have to walk the rest of the school on your own."

Thankfully, Rosch laughed. "Got it."

They began to limp their way through the corridor again. It really seemed never-ending. And the colours on the lockers were all wrong, too, the green being the sickening shade you'd find on hospital walls. No light filtered through the windows. Stocke's heart began to beat a little faster; he could feel the blood pumping painfully against his temples. It was a good deal too early for the sun to be already gone…

"Rosch," Stocke said, tensing, "there's something wrong. Things were supposed to go back to normal after we got rid of the Shadow."

Rosch grew even paler. "Yeah… this place doesn't look the same as usual. What the hell's going on?"

There was only one explanation possible. "There's another of those. Another Shadow."

"What?" Rosch said. "You mean there's another of these things going on around the school? Dammit, it could hurt someone else!"

Stocke's bangs clung to his forehead, slick with sweat. Can I beat another Shadow? Can I really do it? "Yeah. We have to find it."

"And quickly, too!" Rosch seemed on the verge of a freakout. "Sonja stayed after school too, remember? She said she'd help Fennel in the labs."

"She's waiting for us," Stocke said in a thin voice. "We're supposed to drive her home."

A bit of confusion showed on Rosch's face for a moment. "No, she said Rowan was coming to get her, remember?"

Stocke was suddenly cold all over. No, it couldn't be… "Rosch, Rowan can't come to get Sonja…"

"What?! Why wouldn't he—oh, oh shit… oh my God, no…"

The two friends exchanged the same look of sheer horror.

Sonja's brother Rowan had been dead for almost two years now.

Author's notes: …this chapter was supposed to include the fight against Sonja's Shadow as well, but it got so long I had to cut here OTL Sorry for the evil cliffhanger… as always, a big thanks to my beta quicksilver-ink and to all of you readers!