Author's Note
A few things to mention going into this story:
First of all, let me just tell you, this story is going to be a fairly long one, and it's also going to get weird. Really weird. At points the narrative will seem like it crawled out of someone's half asleep brain. Half the time, that will actually be 100% factually true. The other half of the time it will just be deliberately written that way. I swear. At the end of the day this is a story about a bunch of depressed people trying to make something more of themselves by getting into magic fistfights. There's inherently a lot of very dry humor and misplaced optimism in a story like that, but also things get pretty dark. If you're a fan of Tsukihime or Bloodborne or anything else that is up to its eyes in hazy surreal nonsense and ultra-violence you'll probably be happy here. Just know that at some points you'll feel like you're reading the script from a Trigger anime.
Expect a bunch of references to main-ish-line SMT. I'm not happy that a bunch of my favorites not only didn't make it into V but are stuck in 2D for probably another five years until Persona comes to save them and I will be channeling that into this story, which you will see very very shortly, possibly further down this very page.
This will be a very action-heavy kind of story, surgically attached to an urban fantasy mystery. In some ways it will almost be structured like going through the arcade mode of a fighting game. A lot of the pieces for solving things before we get to the end will actually be articulated during these fights. Persona appearances will also be drenched in hints and what should hopefully be pretty upfront symbolism.
Now for what everyone actually cares about. As was probably made evident by the description the OC tag is significant, all OCs aside from one guy in the prologue that won't appear again for the rest of the story are children of characters from P3-5. Not all characters that are initially presented as OCs will actually be OCs. While the protagonist is an OC, the actual characters from the games will definitely not be taking a backseat in this.
And finally, shipping will be somewhat rampant. A lot of characters already have kids, some characters are trying to have kids, some characters tried to have kids but couldn't. Some will get more focus than others, and that's not to say some of these relationships won't end pleasantly, but you're definitely not going to be getting your flower shop fix here.
And that's it.
Mitsubachi Ibunroku Persona 5
For the working man who can't find a reason to live, or to die.
Forward – Brand New Days
One way or another, every great dynasty finds its way to its finale. Some of history's greatest rulers have died gracefully on the throne, and their legacy treated with respect in their passing. But others died on the battlefield – in a ditch, buried under others who fell before them, trampled underfoot by their own men, with a sword through their bellies and their guts laid out for all to see. Some rulers have had their cities burned, their history no more than ashes in the wind. Their tradition discarded, all traces of them wiped from the face of the earth – and that is precisely the point. History's victors one way or another seek to either build or destroy. Some have been slaves to an ideology, to faith, even to illness. Some have been the breakers of chains, some have bid their captives to forge their own shackles.
And in the deepest recesses of one's soul, no matter who they are or where they're from, is a deep craving for that power. All men would see themselves as kings. All men would see themselves rising from the pit of their everyday lives to greater things. But scarce few see the throne for what it truly is. A king is not merely a man unto himself. A king is an aspect of all men. A litmus for humanity. A foundation for all to strive towards, both for better and for worse. And a king that is not worthy of that collective unconscious is no true king.
For the individual's innermost self, their morality, their knowledge, their thoughts and feelings – to dictate the flow of history on a tremendous scale is a perversion of nature. A denial of all but one man's self. But such is the blasphemous might of a king – the power to rule that which man cannot rule, the power to become that which man cannot become, the power to make the choice that man will never be given the chance to make. To either preserve the order of things so life might continue, or cast it all into fire and madness so that something else might take its place – that is the ultimate choice of every exon of history, an unfailing constant for all time, two extremes that no true king can ignore.
A king above all else must choose. A king must have the strength to choose, and to stand by his decisions.
And so it is that mankind waits. In unending darkness, one age after the next, for such a king to sit the throne.
2015. In Tokyo, twilight has come at last for the Kirijo Group.
As the last of its tremendous fortune drifts away and its inner circle shrinks by the hour, many leave behind nothing but regret, if they leave behind anything at all. But for Mitsuru Kirijo, the final hours of her family's sole and greatest legacy have a different meaning altogether.
The Kirijo Group ends in what is largely a perpetual silence. Its matriarch sits in her office, on the top floor of a skyscraper that overlooks Tokyo almost in its entirety. The building has been largely abandoned, and anyone that remains is surely an enemy. The deep orange of the setting sun fills the room through the open windows. The shadow she casts is long. She knows that what she built will not be granted the end that it warrants. But even then -
Even then, she's not alone.
Despite everything that's happened, not everyone has left her yet.
Sitting in her lap is a young boy that has long since fallen asleep. With deep red hair just like hers – but that's where their similarities end. She gazes longingly at his sleeping face.
Those soft features aren't hers – he looks just like his father, without a doubt. And in these moments where she's left with nothing but her own thoughts, she thinks back to him. She recalls those days that gave her the strength to face the present without fear.
She swivels the chair they're sitting in around to face the dusk sky. The child in her lap squirms for a moment. His deep blue eyes open slightly, but the moment he sees her face he drifts back off to sleep.
This moment must be allowed to last, for as long as possible.
But she doesn't have the authority to make demands, not anymore.
The door behind her opens. For a moment her heart skips a beat, in anticipation of the end. Standing there is Officer Kurosawa. A collaborator, and in some ways a compatriot. Someone who's lost almost as much as she has.
"It's time." He speaks curtly.
She runs her fingers through the sleeping boy's hair. "Do we know how many?"
"There's only three of them."
"And what about you?
"I've got these two here." Two heavily armed men enter the room just behind him, not making so much as a sound.
"That gives us an advantage, then." her free hand passes over the handgun laid out on top of her fine wood desk. She lightly takes hold of it as she had countless times before, her fingers treading the edges of the trigger. "Did anyone else get out?"
"Yamagishi is safe, but Sanada didn't make it. There's nothing we could do."
She closes her eyes for a moment and exhales.
"Masayoshi Shido..." She never could've imagined that her most dangerous opponent, the one that would bring her organization to its knees, would've come from such an unassuming place. A man once so blatantly incompetent, not a soul believed he'd make it as far as the cabinet, let alone to the heights to which the man is now poised to reach.
Could it have been helped? It all could've been helped. And that's precisely the point.
The child in her arms stirs at her unrest. "I wanna go home." He murmurs tiredly. She plants a small kiss on his forehead.
The last few days haven't been any easier for the child than they were for her. He'd been plucked from everything that he knew so suddenly, from the moment all of this began. He was old enough to listen to what was happening, what was being said. Sometimes he'd even pretend he wasn't listening. Even at this very moment he was mostly just pretending to be asleep. He's trying, as hard as he can, but it's no use.
"We'll be home soon. I promise."
"We don't know who debriefed them on the Shadow Ops, but likely the leak came from within Public Safety itself." Kurosawa continues. "The students you had involved weren't documented in any official capacity, so there won't be a paper trail leading back to them. For the rest… It's only a matter of time."
"What about the Anti-Shadow Suppression Weapons? Isshiki's institute was working with us on the Plume of Dusk breakthrough – there's a huge risk there if their research was compromised to the extent that we think."
"Aigis' remains made it safely to the island. The other one was decommissioned and the Plume of Dusk was destroyed."
She pauses for a moment before responding. "Thank you." It's all she can say.
Then she hears it. The sound of reloading rifles, two of them.
"I'm sorry it ended like this, Mitsuru."
She casts her gaze towards her son, still squirming in her lap. She can feel his heart start to beat a little faster. "This isn't the end. There's still so much more we have left to lose. So I won't despair." With what precious few moments remained – she couldn't waste a single one. Never again. That's how he would want it. "I promise you. One day that man that did this to us will be brought to justice."
"I hope that day comes. I really do."
Most of her friends were dead. Before too long, she'd be off to greet them again.
But not yet.
With the full force of her calves she spins the chair back around – before Kurosawa can react she opens fire on the two men at his side, covering the boy's ears and holding him close as she goes. Perfect shots, right between the eyes. Both men are dead instantly.
Kurosawa makes no effort to reach for his own firearm, his arms firmly at his side as two more men file into the room and open fire. Mitsuru sees the utterly shattered look in his eyes for only a moment before shooting him in the chest.
No regrets. No hesitation. She knows he understands as the light leaves his eyes.
Without a moment to spare she leaps from the chair to her right, successfully gunning one of the advancing men down before taking cover behind her desk.
She grabs hold of her terrified son's shoulders. "Stay right here, okay? It's safe, they can't shoot all the way through." He looks like he's about to cry, his knees buckling. She cups his face in her hands. "We're going home now. I won't let them hurt you. I swear." He nods nervously. His trust in her is unwavering. His whole world has been cast off the side of a cliff. But he'll always believe that his mother will save him.
Rolling to her left she pops out from behind the desk and shoots the officer closest to her – but two more have entered the room, pinning her down behind the bulletproof desk. Loading another magazine into her handgun she unfastens a flashbang strapped to her torso, arms it, and tosses it over the desk towards the far side of the room. She hears her son shouting when it goes off, but she can't divert her attention for more than a second. She advances and takes down the stunned men just before three more charge in. As she dives for cover she brings one of them down, but one of the others manages to clip her leg.
She lands sprawled out behind the desk. Her son panics, and scrambles over to her, trying to stop her leg from bleeding. In that moment one of the remaining men rounds the corner – she just barely manages to aim and shoot him, the bullet flying straight over the boy's head.
She's left with few options – she pulls the boy close and attempts to stand – she can feel the bullet tightly lodged just above her ankle, but she can still walk. In the hallway just outside her office are no less than ten more armed officers, approaching.
She turns to face the window – outside and around the plaza below, the building is already surrounded by police vehicles, but so far there's not much of a commotion. She shoots at the glass and with her good leg kicks away what parts of the window don't shatter from the impact. A rush of wind surges through the office, followed by a tired yelp from her boy. She looks down at him.
"I need you to hold on. As tight as you can. No – tighter than that." She can feel the strength in his little limbs starting to give way from the stress as he tries to comply. "There – like that. And close your eyes, okay? Don't open them till I tell you. We're almost done. Just a little more…!" Pain shoots up her leg from the wound.
Her son closes his eyes tightly and grips the fabric under her coat as hard as he could, wrapping his arms around her neck. With that, Mitsuru casts her coat off, revealing her skinsuit armed to the teeth with explosives and spare ammo beneath. She releases her son, freeing both of her hands while he clings to her for dear life, and in the next moment she leaps through the window as the approaching men open fire. Before they fall from the view of the window she takes two shots to her back. She suffers in silence. She can't upset her son more than she already has.
The two of them fall through the dusk sky for what feels like an eternity. She can hear the sirens below, and the frantic shouting of police officers as the situation begins to escalate – and she can feel the weight of her boy increasing their downward velocity, faster than she's used to with a jump like this.
They fall like that for what amounts to fifteen seconds, before Mitsuru takes aim at the roof of a nearby building with a gun she pulls from her hip -
When she pulls the trigger, gun launches a long cable hundreds of feet with a claw shaped weight on the far end outward at a blinding fast speed, firmly finding a hold on the roof of the adjacent apartment complex. She releases the trigger, and just like that the cable begins to rapidly retract. Their orientation shifts suddenly, Mitsuru feeling the force of their freefall being suddenly cut short straight down her spine. The change in trajectory just precise enough and just fast enough for Mitsuru to land on her feet squarely in the middle of the roof of the complex as the cable fully retracts into the securely fastened weight. The impact from the landing however drives the bullet in her leg further in.
She cries out in pain – the boy lets go and tries to do something, anything to help stop it. He can't bear listening to his mother hurt. She takes his hand in hers and smiles.
"I'll be okay. But we need to keep moving."
The find their way off the roof and onto the next, Mitsuru's aim to move several blocks away from the police perimeter before taking to the streets. She helps her boy cross the gaps, but her wounds are starting to take their toll. In the end she elects to take a fire escape closer to the perimeter than she'd planned -
At last they're back on the ground in the alley between the complex and the next building over. Her son trailing just behind her, she hatches the next phase of their escape. She has a good idea of where she is, but they can't stay above ground for much longer. One way or another they needed to leave the city, as soon as they could, without being seen.
"Where're we going…?" Her son finally speaks up as he starts to regain his voice.
"We're going home. Just like I said."
"I mean, where are we going?" She sighs. Sometimes she forgets that he's too self aware for his own good. He's so little, but he'll often talk his way around her like this without even realizing he's doing it.
"We still have friends on Yakushima. We'll stay with them for awhile, and as soon as I've got an idea of who we can trust, we'll take you home. Sound good?"
"Are we going to see Aki soon?"
"...Who knows? Maybe we will."
"Okay, but I want takoyaki."
"There's a good takoyaki place on Yakushima."
"Can't we just get some from the mall?"
"They'll start shooting at us again if we go there, dear."
"Oh."
"So we'll go to Yakushima, we'll get you some takoyaki, and after that we'll see if the movie theater is still open. But until then I need you to stay close to me. Okay?"
"...Okay. It's a deal." He puts out his tiny hand for his mother to shake. It's one of their favorite rituals. She shakes his hand, and at that moment, some of the tension slips away. Good, so some part of this is normal for him. Though she isn't sure if that's a good or a bad thing.
The two of them head towards the mouth of the alleyway, Mitsuru's limp becoming more pronounced by the minute.
"Yakushima, you say? I wouldn't bother if I were you. The scientists that didn't join up with us are already dead."
Someone else's voice. One she doesn't recognize. She pulls her son close instinctively. Only a few feet away from them is just one man – a young man. Very young. As he steps out of the shadows she recognizes his black uniform immediately – he was a first year from Gekkoukan High, her family's school, her own school, his clothes very well kept, and his shoulder length brown hair just the same. At a glance he looks like a model student – and with the silenced pistol in his gloved hands, a model assassin.
And she could see it in his eyes.
This was it. This was the end.
But she would not bend. She would not give in.
Not until the very last moment. Not until she was dead, and perhaps even further beyond.
"You don't look like you're with the police. How did you find us so quickly?"
"The police don't have foresight for the unexpected. It's a shame that the man I work for doesn't share that inadequacy, or you might've had a real chance of slipping away. And besides -" he shoots the ground just at her feet. She glares daggers at him, to which all he does is grin back at her. "I know what that gun you've got tucked away is really used for. Go ahead. Use it. If not, then if you don't mind I'll give it a try myself once I've stripped it off your corpse." He says that last bit with the most delightful smile on his face.
"Then you must be the so-called Black Mask. I'd heard rumors that it was a child who organized the raid on our labs in Odaiba, but until now I didn't really believe them."
"All of this is just a product of you surrounding yourself with the scum of this city. You wouldn't believe how easy it was to get all the intel I needed just by enrolling at your school."
"So how did he put you up to this? Did he offer to pull you off the streets?"
For a moment his face twists, just for a moment, but enough for her to see it happen. "That's none of your business."
She knows exactly what he is. Her family was responsible for countless young boys that turned out exactly like he has, some that cost her the lives of people very important to her. But she could still tell. This boy – this boy was not an empty shell waiting to die. He still believed. He believed he was in the right. He believed in a righteousness that would never come for him. And that made him far more dangerous than the man pulling his strings.
She understands now.
From the very beginning – it wasn't Masayoshi Shido that crippled the Kirijo Group, not truly. He may have been the mastermind, but the true architect was this boy.
This boy – was just like him. Just like Tetsuo's father. He could do anything. He could be anything. It was such a waste. It was almost painful to watch him standing there with that gun in his hands.
Surely this must be it. This must be the penance for Kouetsu Kirijo's crimes, left to his granddaughter to collect. To be gunned down in an alleyway by an orphaned boy. Perhaps it really was justice. Perhaps the scores of children that had died by the hand of Kirijo – perhaps the ghosts of Jin, Takaya, Sho Minazuki – maybe even Chidori stands at Goro Akechi's back in this moment, as he secures retribution for them all from beyond the grave.
He takes aim.
"You're the one who's making the choice. Not Shido. I don't care what you do with me. But let the boy go. He's not like us – he doesn't have malice in his heart. He's pure, and clean, he has his whole life ahead of him. He's no threat to you, or that man, or anyone else. He's just… my son."
The seconds tick by, each accompanied by a loud and violent thrashing of her heart as she looks down the barrel of Goro Akechi's gun, each more agonizing than the last. Still he doesn't pull the trigger.
"Ahh, but you see, you've got it all wrong, Kirijo-san." His firm voice falters, degrading into something rough and unrefined. "This has nothing to do with Masayoshi Shido. The only one – the only one holding the strings here is me!"
A loud ringing in her ears.
The sun has set at last.
She falls backward. Color fades from the world. Her leg snaps unnaturally as she hits the hard concrete. Her son rushes to her, doing everything he can to try and sit her up, hysterically calling for her all the while.
She raises a weak hand. Her fingers lightly brush against the boy's face. She smiles.
"Tetsuo." She speaks, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. "You are my light. Now and always."
Her hand falls to the side.
Suddenly Goro Akechi has gone. For a moment she thinks she can see them, off in the distance at the alley's opening. Akihiko is there, alongside her own father. And Junpei – and Aigis too. Everyone she lost, in that moment, they're all there to greet her. Just like they promised.
And then he appears before her, like a ray of light cutting through that darkness. His messy blue hair covering his eyes so she can't see, he smiles at her, and that's all she needs to know.
She holds her head high, as she crosses from that world to the next.
Tetsuo Kirijo is left behind, in the darkness of that alley.
And though he knows the words – he does not understand.
But even so -
He is not alone.
A mighty wind tears through the alleyway, carrying the boy's despair out into the dark of night.
And then – a massive pillar of light engulfs the boy and his mother.
When Akechi at last can see, the spectacle that unfolds before him is of another world entirely. One he's familiar with – but one he's not prepared to face here.
Standing at the boy's back is a puppet of tarnished silver, towering over both of them. A massive blade protrudes from its back pointing skyward, its arms are decorated with rosary beads and draped in the shells of opened caskets. It's blonde hair radiates an otherworldly glow and as the boy's wail drones on and on, so does the metal giant echo his harrowing cry. The image of the savior - the agony of the son of God, the forty days in the desert, the burden of the cross.
From the agape mouth of the giant, two hands of porcelain white emerge as its head begins to convulse, choking it from the inside out. And with a violent snap, the head of the puppet falls to the wayside, shattering into pieces. The gaping hole in the puppet's neck grows wider and wider. Coming apart at the seams, what was left of that imitation of a holy countenance is cast onto the hard concrete – and what emerges from within is the genuine article. A figure of the purest white, like a sculpture of a man, pure, untarnished, and unformed, pushing its way out of the puppet's bursting corpse.
Sprouting from its back are two massive black wings, and growing from the top of its head is long, flowing hair of an even deeper black. Upon the face, a golden mask takes form, bearing the shape of the silver puppet, the pained expression on its face from the moment it was torn asunder captured there in perpetuity.
The boy's unending scream cuts off unnaturally. The look on his face is purely catatonic.
The dark angel does not cry.
That's right. This is no time for tears.
Thou art I, and I am thou.
I am Mastema, humble and most ardent servant of the Lord.
That's right – the light may fade, all you know may be cast into the deepest pale, but the will of the Lord is with us this day!
Of course. The great defender sent by the father, in the son's hour of need.
It pops the mask off its face from the chin, betraying the delighted sneer of the messenger of God beneath, its eyes and lips the dark blue of a body devoid of all heat.
A ray of light curves through the air – he has a fraction of a second to get out of the way before the space around the ray warps. Try as he might to shoot at the shimmering figure his bullets just pass through it. The angel seems to taunt him before another ray, this one of the purest black, shoots forth out of thin air. He feels a stinging sensation on the palms of his hands – eventually it becomes such that merely holding his pistol brings him pain.
As the angel toys with him, the boy is still motionless. He has no control of the monster, that much is clear, but he is also its point of origin.
This has already gone on long enough. And before too long the authorities will arrive. It'll be impossible to contain any of this then. His opponent is the angel, but the angel can't manifest without the boy.
His hand slips into his back pocket – producing a thin object from within, he tosses it across the length of the alley. It lands just beside the boy, just barely passing under the arc of another beam of light. He begins to advance as fast as his legs will take him, the angel hindering his movement with a flap of its wings. The next vortex the figure hurls his way tears into his left shoulder. He drops his gun, at which the angel smirks before raising his golden mask to the sky. Akechi is only a few inches away from the shimmering monster as a pillar of light descends from above and engulfs him.
And then the air changes – a swirling darkness engulfs the alley. The angel visibly feels the change and glances at the yet unresponsive child for just a moment – and then, from deep within the pillar of light, a dark hand extends and grabs hold of it shoulder. When the light fades, what is left behind is best described as a ruined suit of armor, held together with belts and stripped leather. The helm leers at the angel, a sickening laughter escaping from its confines.
"You're in my world now…!" Akechi drives the jagged sword that appears in his other hand straight towards the angel's chest. But with a flick of its wrist, the massive blade protruding from the carcass of the discarded puppet comes to life, freeing itself from its steel bonds and hurtling towards them at blinding speeds – Akechi manages to back away just before the blade takes both of his arms. The chunk of steel floats there between the two of them – and merely with a wave of the angel's arm, the blade goes flying towards him again, and again.
He's able to parry effectively with his own weapon, but he fights a losing battle if he keeps his distance. Breaking out into a sprint, he leaps and kicks off of the wall closest to him. Twirling into a vicious spiral he sends the floating blade spiraling out of control in their next clash, causing it to crash into the wall of the adjacent building. Without losing any speed when he touches the ground he runs straight towards the angel again -
The angel has to use its entire arm to compel the blade to wrest itself from the shattered brick and mortar. The blade flies out. Just barely being able to block Akechi's overhead swing.
Just as he expected, he has no hope of piercing the angel's defense with his fractured blade.
But this is close enough.
The air shifts, and a sword of pure flame phases into existence out of the ether. The figure holding the burning sword is obscured in dazzling lights, but the blade strikes true, a brilliant burst of fire engulfs the angel as the blade sinks between its ribs. As the angel writhes in agony its slab of steel drops uselessly to the ground, and with a proper opening at last, Akechi plunges his own sword into the angel's heart.
The fire fades, and the angel's limbs dangle there as its wings still keep it afloat. Suddenly its head lurches in his direction. The angel's smile fades, but just for a moment. The golden mask that had fallen to the ground returns itself to the angel's face. And then the angel speaks once more. I'll remember this, Son of Man. That trick won't save you next time. And with that the figure dissipates, and at last, the child falls unconscious.
"How lovely. They can talk now." Akechi sighs. He picks the object he'd thrown earlier up off the jagged concrete – his cellphone, and a latest model at that. The impact had caused some minor damage, but he is still able to tap around on its smooth surface. And in a matter of moments, the space around the alleyway shifts again, the spatial distortion fading away along with his suit of armor. He exhales sharply, retrieving his gun from where it had landed much earlier in the altercation and leaning against the nearby wall. He stares at the fallen form of Tetsuo Kirijo, at long last sleeping peacefully at his mother's side. He takes aim at the boy. And the seconds tick by.
"Bang." He lowers his gun, staring at the boy's sleeping form for a few moments longer.
He presses his thumb to his phone's screen for a few moments, and it automatically calls a number. Someone on the other end answers.
"It's me. It's done. No, there weren't any witnesses. She acted exactly like you predicted…" He looks down at the fallen form. "No. She was alone. No, I don't know what happened to the child. He must've escaped. He won't be a problem. He was just a little boy, after all… Yes, I had to bring her into your Palace. I understand. The situation was such that – yes, of course. There was no risk whatsoever. We're too far from the Diet Building for her to have seen anything... Right, I understand. I'll be in touch once Public Security finishes combing through the old offices." The person on the other end of the line hangs up. He runs his hand through his hair.
He hears sirens in the distance. He walks over to the unconscious boy and picks him up. Slinging him over his shoulder, he walks out of the alleyway and heads off into the night as though he'd never been there at all.