First of all, thank you Axeex for the kind commend :D

It certainly is a little verbose, but the constant reminder, while not necessary, reflects the state of Ren's mind. I hope it doesn't put you off too hard ;)

Without further ado, here!

[Apologies for any typos I missed, as always. I've proofed it, and will try to correct them should I spot them!]

Chapter 13

"Why is it you and not Mona who're doing this again?"

Panther asks as they convene on the rafters, with Ren hooking his leg onto the steel and readying himself to hang upside down for as long as necessary. He exchanges a look with Mona, who's definitely asking him the very same question, before shrugging. "In case the Treasure's heavy. Mona can do it, but I think I'm better suited for it. What if it turns out to be something as big as Kamoshida's crown?"

"I—" Panther opens her mouth as if to argue, but words die in her throat as her frown deepens, the lines of unease clear in her ocean-hued eyes. She then sighs, part exasperated, part concerned. "—Right, you make a good point there. But if you need help, you'd better call for it right away, okay?"

"Mhm. Same goes for you, Skull, Panther," he nods at the two, with the former planning on distracting and drawing the guards' attention away from the console while Panther infiltrates the control room. "Your works are as hazardous as mine."

"That is true," Fox hums as he helps Ren secure his leg, getting his limb into a more comfortable position he couldn't achieve on his own. Ren then experimentally twists his body about, feeling the ache in his muscles and joints as he realigns himself, letting the crook of his knee rest upon the round edge— "You seem quite used to this, Joker."

"Mm? Oh, this?" He asks, eyes scanning for the guards, making out mental maps of their positioning and thinking of any fool-proof plans in case of emergencies. "I've… trained in parkours and calisthenics before."

At this, Skull makes a sound, low and surprised. "Huh. Never thought you're that type. You just seem so, I don't know… skinny?"

He scoffs, but takes no offense in the boy's statement as he hangs himself upside down fully. "I've got that a lot. It's showtime, folks. Let's get to it."

And with that, Panther and Skull scramble, while Mona lingers a while longer before taking his pose as the lookout. He is then left alone with Fox, lying in wait for Panther to get in position. Silence fills the air, with tension and anticipation singing in his veins, the whirling of his pulses loud in his ears.

"Joker," Fox coughs, drawing his eyes away from the Treasure – one that has now taken the form of some kind of painting wrapped in violet cloths that shines like the stars in the moonless night – and towards the other boy's face. When he looks at Fox fully, the boy just smiles slightly. "Thank you all again for doing this for me. Would it be alright for me to continue being a part of your group after this?"

It is a surprise, Ren will not lie; he doesn't really care much if Fox joins them or not, but one more person in the team is always nice, considering that the Mementos seems to always expand endlessly under the shadows of the world, and that their goals to help the weak might cause them to venture deeper into the maws of the abyss.

So, he smiles, nodding his head, ignoring the way his pulses dance inside his skull, wild and thunderous, with Arsène's laughter ringing even louder under his hand. "Sure. It'd be nice to have another on board."

"It is good to be a part of something greater than my own calling," Fox muses, then looks to the control room. Ren's eyes follow, and when he sees Panther in there, gives her a thumb up. Fox hums before stepping slightly backward and towards the lever for the crane. "Ah, it looks like the time has come. I'll see you after a while, Joker."

"Yeah. See you."

He is then lowered down, silent as a cat with his focus like a hawk trying to secure its prey. He exhales quietly once into the unbreathable air, allowing Koppa Tengu's maneuverability to come over him as he silences himself, shutting his mouth tight with lips pressed together. Then, he looks around the pedestal, all the while ignoring the angered hum of Eligor as he glances towards Madarame. And when he is certain that there will be no trap he could trip, he meticulously removes the covered painting from the pedestal, holds it tight in his hands, and uses his free foot to nudge the chain of the hook to signal his retreat.

After a moment of waiting in bated breath, he's slowly pulled up, and Ren catches Fox nodding at him as he's lifted higher into the rafters – just as planned, mind you – with the Treasure in hand. Once the crane has stopped, he untangles himself out from the contraption and back on his two feet, with the panting secured on his back. It takes a moment, but the Thieves come into view after a while, with Skull grinning like a madman.

"Let's run," he says while Mona takes the painting onto his back, the weight seemingly not a bother to him. When he hears the sound of commotion coming from down below, he looks around and spots the window the Palace's blueprint has told him— "There. To the window."

They quickly make their way through the window, and out into the balcony where their only options are either jumping down from a ridiculous height – not something he'd recommend, even within the confines of this place – or through an unknown window that absolutely would lead them back inside. Mona voices his concern as he sighs. "Well, we either jump down the edge, or jump down a portal to an unknown space!"

There are then voices from behind them, and Ren has to resist the urge to curse as he makes the call. "I think we should go where we won't end up pancakes on the floor, so yeah… probably that way."

He then prays under his breath – with Arsène still laughing into his ears – before going through—

"The courtyard!" Skull exclaims, and the first thought that crosses Ren's mind is holy shit, this is some next level luck right here, with Jack Frost and Leanan Sidhe giggling inside his chest. "Welp! This works out!"

"It seems we managed to escape their siege," Fox says, tensions leaving his shoulders at last. Then, his eyes fall to the Treasure resting snugly on Morgana's back. They look around for a while, and when Ren nods his approval – since making doubly sure they have gotten the real Treasure wouldn't hurt – the boy says. "We should take a look at it."

"I agree," Ren adds, unnecessary as it may, and pulls Morgana – who's having some kind of attraction towards the Treasure – away from the object before setting him down. He then unties the loose knots of the fabric, and—

"Is that… a meme face?" Panther questions with disbelief, and while Ren doesn't really know what meme she's referring to, this abominable congregation of hiragana letters meshed together into a smiling face is definitely not a Treasure. "That… doesn't look like a Treasure to me."

Ren pauses, frowning, because Madarame could see this as the real Treasure, for all he knows. But that man is egotistic and sees people as mere tools, so he doesn't think the man would see this… thing, a joke of a painting, as something important enough to twist his desires just so. And when Eligor roars, flame-guarded hooves clobbering against his spine and spear dragged along his ribs, he just knows that this is not a fucking Treasure—

"We've been fooled," Ren says, voice low and seeping with smoke and ashes from Arsène's wingbeats, the Prince of Thieves' visage clear in his mind as his eyes look back, at the silhouette of the Ruler of this twisted Palace. Ren snarls. "You tricked us."

As soon as the words leave his lips, walls of light emerge, blocking their only path forward. The others yelp and shout, but Ren's mind is reeling, every fiber of his being screaming with fury that is pure and almost too much for him to bear. Madarame's smile only serves to fuel the wings of fire beating in his chest even more as the Shadow sneers. "Meddlesome vermin."

"Counterfeits," Ren spits before he could even properly think, Arsène's hellfire taking place of whatever or whoever else he was planning to use. But he finds himself raveling in the feeling of being burnt alive, and oh, it is much more liberating like this— "This is so like you, an artist with no real talent to speak of, just copying people for your own gains."

"Silence!" Madarame snaps, veins popping up on his forehead as he snarls with his teeth bared. Ren could only growl, the faux artist's voice grating on his eardrums and making him sick to the very bones. He feels something tugging at his fingertips – Shiisaa, Ren thinks. Or Inugami, he isn't too sure – but he doesn't let them sway his focus as Madarame breathes more vileness into the world. "Counterfeits are accepted in the world of Japanese art!"

"What made you change like this!?" Fox says, with disbelieve and disgust that is only second to Ren's own, Goemon's chill wind dancing at the edge of his consciousness. "Is it because you became famous!? Can't you understand how much it pains me to inquire about the crimes of my foster father?"

Ren stops himself from saying anything, or doing something that he will regret, biting the inside of his cheek and pushing Arsène's rising flame away from his mind. Now is not the time for unchecked anger – he will have the opportunity to unleash his rage later—

"…Now that I think back, the only reason why I took you in was due to my ties with your mother," the man (the monster) says with that outrageous smirk of indifference and apathy that almost undoes Ren's attempts to reign in his fury. "That woman never lost her passion for painting even after her husband died – her skills and talents were quite astonishing, as well… that's why I decided to look after her—"

Ren doesn't allow the man to finish what he already knows, instead snarling through the gaps of his teeth like a feral beast, ready to let himself go and be taken over by his primal instincts. "You see people as tools to the very end. Her talents were her own, not for you to reap!"

"Silence!" Madarame snaps, booming voice causing the ground to quake, but Ren doesn't falter. There are embers scattering under his own feet, blue flames like back when he first awakened dancing at the tip of his toes, and he feels a smirk creeping up his face – a smirk that is not his own. "I took care of her, I gave her the gift of a place to be and to create what she loved! I am entitled to take what's hers as my own!"

"How low can you sink?" Panther hisses as she lowers herself, ready to spring to action—

Then, as if a thought has crossed Madarame's eyes, one of sickening schemes, the man gestures towards one of his followers, one that's carrying something that looks like a painting— "To humor you, let me show you the glimpse of the genuine Sayuri!"

"Genuine?" Fox repeats, his arms slacken ever so slightly. "What—"

And when the Shadow turns the painting their ways, all Ren could see is the red of life, and all he could hear is the screeching madness that is his own fury made manifest—

This man twisted the portrait of the mother and her child, hiding the truth away from the world and reaping the rewards from the efforts that is never his own! Arsène bellows, smoke rising around Ren and making it almost impossible to breathe. They seem to be saying something, exchanging words, But he couldn't hear any of it, and he doesn't care— He defiled the very gift called love into something so vile and sickening! Unforgivable! Unforgivable!

"Unforgivable," Ren breathes Arsène's chants of insanity aloud, stopping any words in the air cold and turning them into nothing but dusts. He feels eyes on him, eyes of his friends – eyes of the Thieves – but he ignores it as he points his knife at Madarame. "You tend to destroy your art once they've outlived their usefulness. Does that include Yusuke's mother? Are you that low of a monster?"

Fox seems to be thinking the same thing, since he winces upon Ren's words – the words Fox seems to have dancing at the tip of his tongue – before nodding at him. And to this, Madarame sneers. "She just so happened to have a seizure in front of me. That's when a thought crossed my mind – if I don't call for help and leave her be, I could obtain her painting without any strings attached."

Unforgivable, unforgivable, UNFORGIVABLE!

"You killed her!" Fox growls, his voice cutting through the haze in Ren's mind.

He's had enough of this. Enough, enough, enough—

(This is too much. Ren does not know what parents' love is like, but from what he has seen and heard in and outside of the Palace, Yusuke's mother must have loved him dearly – enough to leave the world with a painting of her own child, in hopes that he would find her after she was gone. And to trample upon that kind of gift, even if Ren doesn't understand it, makes him angry, makes him want to rip Madarame's spine out and feed it back to him—

But they are here to change his heart, not to tear him asunder. While he would love nothing more than to allow Arsène's rage to take full control of him, that he cannot do – he will not allow these people's hands to be tarnished by bloods as vile and as filthy as Madarame's own (as filthy as Ren's own).)

"—If I'm to steal ideas, it's much easier robbing the future of brats who won't talk back than adults. It's thanks to you that I came up with that idea – you have my gratitude," Madarame seems to say, and Ren blinks to snap himself out of his own head. And while he loathes every second talking to this abomination, he agrees – with Arsène's croons of disapproval loud in his ears.

Ren knows just how hard it is to defy those who stand above you, those who have your futures in the palms of their hands, those who could control you with but a few words and promises of a live full of grief and misery. But here, in the world where the power of Wild Cards could manifest, Ren has a choice – to allow that kind of atrocity to continue… or to stop it.

Then, he hears Fox laughs, sarcastic and with frozen fury that chills the very space into stillness. "Hahaha… I thank you, Madarame! Every reason for me to forgive you has disappeared without a trace at this very moment! You aren't some rotten artist… you're a despicable fiend who wears the skin of one!"

"And we will take your distorted desires, and make you atone for everything that you've done!" Ren snarls, his mask shattering into oblivion as Arsène laughs, his form manifesting from hellfire and into this world, his ever-shifting visage sporting nothing but the ever-present grin that seems to draw the deepest, darkest part of him out and using it to fuel the flame into blazing inferno that cannot be stopped. And he welcomes it. "We will take you down!"

"Bring it, you damn brats!"

It's much different from when he fought Kamoshida.

Like this, with his anger far stronger than a flimsy, easily breakable will to fight, he could feel the rush of cold air as he strikes down the portraits, one by one. And once that fails, his body knows before his mind could even think that all he had to do is to bring them all down at once.

"Fox! Panther! Mona!" He bellows once he separates himself from the nose, avoiding a voracious bite from the mouthpiece, shifting Shiisaa into Eligor before allowing the horseman to turn back into the mask over his face. Arsène's name remains at the tip of his tongue, and he snarls, his eyes burning with fire that makes everything around him but Madarame's Shadow hazy and unfocused. "Take out the mouth! Skull, hit the rest with everything you've got! I'm with you!"

"Got it!"

He then allows himself to feel the biting frost, the blazing haze, the verdant wind and the thunderous rumbles that surge from each and every one of them as he utters the name of Arsène like a prayer. He lets a grin form on his lips, teeth bared, the flame and the call for justice etched deep into his marrows and drawing out the most primal snarl out of him. And frankly, he does not care—

"Megido," he commands, with Arsène laughing to the tune of his order, calling forth shining droplets of light that seems to warp the very air around them. But he stills their explosions, allowing the cannon shots from Skull to connect first before detonating the one closest to the mouthpiece. And when the rest of his team's powers collide with the painting, he lets Arsène's anger loose, snapping the taut string in half and twisting the very space into oblivion.

The flashes then consume his vision whole, burning into his retina and making their marks in his mind, one that he decides to think nothing of until all is said and done. He doesn't recall Arsène right away, letting the Prince of Thieves come down to his side, sharp-edged boots scraping the ground and drawing little lines of nothingness into the marbles. And when the vision clears, all he could hear is the laughter in his ears as Madarame summons counterfeits of himself.

"Oddly fitting for a scamming artist, don't you think so, Joker?" Fox muses, brandishing his katana almost too elegantly, the shines of the blade dulled under the cackles of multiple elements seeping from the Shadows' clones. "A faux artist, creating duplicates of his worthless self to stoke his ego."

"You can say that again," Ren says, shaking the burns away from his fingertips, Arsène's maddening visage briefly in his vision – one that he almost immediately looks away from, his sight sets on this abomination of a man (who reminds him too much of the man who birthed him). "Just gives you more reasons to take him down. You good, Fox?"

"Yes," the boy says resolutely, Goemon's icy aura bringing an almost pleasant chill down his spine. "How do you propose we deal with this self-proclaimed master of the arts, Joker?"

"I say," Joker says, looking to his friends – who return his grin with ones of their own – before making his call, his voice booming with the authority that is not his own (is it just him, or is Arsène's voice growing louder?) and fire of fury that Ren isn't too sure to whom it belongs to anymore. "We pair ourselves with one of them. If you don't mind, Fox – let me take the real one."

"I have no problem with that arrangement," Fox says, a satisfied and almost sympathizing smile on his lips. Ren isn't too sure why such an expression would be there, but doesn't question it as he picks the targets for his friends as he stalls Madarame with Arsène's wingbeats. "Best of luck to you, Joker."

"You guys, too," Joker hums, straightening himself up and feeling the hellfire ringing in his ears with the melody of something vile and dark and dangerous. Arsène bears his grin down at Ren as he walks forward, facing off the gold-clad Madarame with Arsène and Arsène alone – because that is what the Prince of Thieves want him to do. "Let's do this."

He then selectively cuts out the voices of the others as they fight and separate the clone away from one another, leaving just him and Madarame in the garden.

"You damn brat," Madarame growls, almost like a cornered animal. And while the Ren from the other side would sympathize or even feel like he understands it, the Joker only feels satisfaction upon seeing the vile and the crooked be reduced to such a state (a part of him tries to protest, but Arsène's flame all but snuffs it out), so he grins as Madarame speaks with not a hint of clarity. "Do you not know who I am? I am the master artist! I create the laws of the art world!"

"You've said that before," Ren says, the mask of the Joker unusually prominent, all his teachings and his fears forgotten at his feet as he walks around Madarame, circling him like a prey, his fingers playing with the blade of his onyx knife. Arsène crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side, eyeing Madarame through his ever-shifting eyes. "But here is not the real world. People like you don't have that much power in here, you know?"

"Nonsense!" The man bellows – terrified – as he tries to inch away from Ren. He doesn't even need to voice his mind as Arsène flicks one of his sharp fingertips, calling for a wall of flame to erupt just beside Madarame's feet, stopping the man cold in his pacing. "Ahh! You brat, do you realize who I am!? I will sue you, I will cut down your futures into ribbons—"

"It already is in shambles, thank you," Ren says almost nonchalantly, making that dwindling part of himself – one that exists on that side, but is growing weaker and weaker in here by the seconds – cries out in protest. He ignores it. "That aside, your little threat won't work here. In here, you're nobody, nothing, even if this place is created from your twisted heart – and we are here to tear it down!"

He snarls, and punches Madarame's face hard enough for blood to gush out in torrents. The man lets out a terrified squeak before calling forth some of his powers, the rays of light shaped into arrows. Ren glances up as they rush towards him, and shifts his body weight just enough for the arrows – Kouga, he reminds himself – to miss him, grazing his arms and cheeks only a little.

"Well? I'm up close and personal with you now. Aren't you going to fight?" He bears a grin down at the man, feeling a rush of euphoria he knows he would be terrified of as soon as he steps out of this place. But he decides to ignore that calling from the tiny child in him, too, as he continues walking forward, his knife deftly deflecting or blocking the myriads of elements being casted his ways. "You're the master artist – and a Palace Ruler, at that. Don't just bark at me, Madarame. Bite like you would in the real world, why don't you?"

And bite he does – or at least, he attempts to, as he lunges forward with his hands that seem to hold some kind of Metaverse magic that brings power to his fingertips. Ren is, admittedly, taken aback when he's grasped on the arm – and the burn of him being grabbed with such force makes his veins lit and burst like gunpowder under the flicker of flame.

He feels a pang of pain in his bones as the grip grows stronger, and Madarame seems to notice this, too, because he is grinning, only for his expression to morph into horror when Ren feels Arsène's rage burn under his skin as the Prince uses the strings of darkness to yank the artist off of him, throwing him across the expanse of the garden and into the golden statue. The thing collapses, and he could hear Madarame's yelp of pain as his fingers brush over where he was attacked, only to feel something warm on his fingers.

The pain is minimal, but distracting, and he looks down to see not just a simple bruise and a small cut a grab would be able to do, but rather a few deep gashes that expose his bone. Arsène rumbles from above him, his demonic visage showing a small form of concern that makes him frown – only for him to shake his head, as if to dissuade the formation of concerned comments from the very being that shares his soul, one that knows his every thought and—

He shakes his head again, deciding to ignore the low rumble in his chest as he stalks forward, blood dripping down his arm and painting trails across the floor. And when he finds Madarame, he uses his left arm – one that remains uninjured during it all – to pull Madarame up by the scruff of his garment as he growls out his anger into the stale air between them.

"You're done, Madarame."

And then, he drags Madarame back to the middle of the garden, dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground, as he sits down on the nearby low wall and wait.

And soon enough, the others return, a little battered by otherwise alive and well.

"What the hell happe—" Panther begins, only for her to cut herself short upon seeing what remains of the once twistedly beautiful garden. Ren turns, and sees the girl pressing her lips together, a small frown adorning her feature. "—and I thought it was strange when Madarame's clone suddenly disappeared."

Ren only shrugs, taking the blade into his hand and running his fingers across the dark sheen. He shifts his body to hide his injury, knowing full well just from a glance that they are all tired, so he feels not the need to bother them to heal him, when being spent would make the healing incomplete and that much more exhausting. "Yeah. He's all yours, Fox."

"You damn brat!" Madarame shouts again like a broken record, and for a second, Arsène's desire to put the end to the man's ever-running mouth overcomes him. He suppresses the urge down and frowns, letting the man continues. "You're just like him! Like that guy!"

That catches his attention, and not in a good way. He doesn't stand up, but uncrosses his legs, Arsène hovering beside him with a much more guarded stance than he usually would. "What guy?"

"The Black Mask!" Madarame half-snarls, only to cower when Fox takes a step forward. Ren raises a hand to stop the boy, and Fox surprisingly complies with a small frown.

At the words, he feels a strange pull, like a bond yet formed, tugging at his soul and calling to him. The rows of sharp teeth grinning down at him, pairs of bloody-colored eyes, crazed with anger and revenge dancing along the light and dark that mold themselves into a being that resembles Arsène, yet different – a being born from pure hatred and thirst for revenge that could never be sated instead of anger—

He shakes his head, ridding the image out of his mind before waving Fox forward. He watches at Fox rips the painting of the real Sayuri away from Madarame's reach, and lets Skull take it before hovering over Madarame like a predator. And he seethes, much like Panther once did.

"Please, don't kill me now!" Whatever embers of rebellion remain in Madarame are gone, snuffed out like candlelight as he covers like Ren always has (and always will) from them, the ones who now hold powers over him. "I'm a victim in all of this, too! No one cares for true art, all they want are easily recognizable brands!"

Fox remains silent, even when cold fury keeps seeping out of him in waves. Ren only watches, Arsène's material body shattering back into the mask of Joker once more.

Madarame then continues to speak of nonsense, as if apologies after being bested would hold weights, as if apologies alone would undo what he's done to Fox and everyone else— "The art world revolves around money, after all… you just can't rise up without any money! Yusuke, you understand, don't you? Being a poor artist is truly miserable! I don't – I can't go back to that life—"

Fox grabs Madarame by his kimono, drawing him up and glaring holes into him as he snarls, "A fiend like you has no right to speak about the world of art! You are a disgrace, and should atone for it with your life – you're done for!"

At this, the artist shrieks, trying in vain to pry Fox's hand off. "Please, don't kill me!"

"I won't," Fox says firmly, even when his expression and Goemon's voiceless words say otherwise. Ren feels Arsène rumbles with pride, one that Ren feels, too – pride for the boy who he succeeded in saving, pride for the boy who's doing what Ren will never be able to – as Fox continues lowly, pushing Madarame away to the ground. "But you will have to atone with everything that you have. Confess your crimes, and pay for it by the rules of laws."

"I will, I will!" Madarame gasps.

Ren stands up at last, sheathing his blade and letting the tension falls from his shoulders, their mission now completed. He nods at the others, then speaks to Fox. "Fox, are you alright?"

"…Yes," the boy says, reluctant, exhaustion from mentally challenging his very belief finally catching up to him. But he seems freer than ever before. "I'm alright, Joker. Thank you."

"But… the Black Mask?" Mona says with a frown. "Does that mean there's another intruder beside u—"

Much to their luck, the Palace rumbles, the Sayuri now in their hands, and Madarame's Shadow now disappearing into droplets of light, much like how Kamoshida once did—

"Holy shit, we have no time to chitchat!" Skull says, jumping on the balls of his feet as he reaches for Fox's arm, another hand waving at Ren. "Come on, guys! Let's scram!"

He really hates collapsing Palaces, he really does.

Why does the most dangerous part of changing a person's heart have to be escaping from collapsing fucking buildings?

"The destination has been deleted."

"Phew!" Morgana puffs, resting his chin on Ren's shoulder – and he has to thank whatever Metaverse magic it is that hides his wound under his sleeve instead of tearing it to pieces – before mumbling. "We should leave this place at once before people become suspicious of us."

"Yusuke, c'mon," Ryuji urges.

"…Yes," Yusuke murmurs, his eyes pained and forlorn, and while Ren could never understand the love of the son to their parents – since he understands only fear – he thinks he has an inkling of how much it actually hurts. "Goodbye, sensei."

They then retreat back to their public hideout, with Yusuke admiring the painting sadly. Ren only allows himself a small smile as he sits down, tired, with his right arm burning from the gashes that seems to bleed less than while he was in the Metaverse. He ignores it as he listens to the way Yusuke seems so fond of the painting of the mother he doesn't remember, and while Ren isn't a good art appreciator, he could feel the warmth radiating from the painting.

And he envies it, he really does – none of his family gives off this kind of warmth, not even in person, only the cold apathy and the burning inferno of indiscriminating anger that chars his soul and burns his used-to-exist yearning for love into nothing but a crisp.

"So, what do you wanna do now?" Ryuji asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. He's looking at Yusuke, and Ren realizes that the boy has already completed his growth. While having Yusuke remaining with them would be a boon just as he had promised, he wouldn't blame the boy for backing out now. "We're gonna keep this up, y'know? Targetin' big shots and stuff."

"Why do you do such things?" Yusuke inquires.

"It's to get back at scumbags and like… society in general?" Ryuji says with a small frown, unusually careful and focused in his ideals. "We also wanna give courage to the people that're sufferin' 'cause of selfish adults, like us… like you."

"Courage, hm? What good does that do? You mean the courage to stand up for themselves, correct? Will acquiring that make them happy?"

"It won't," Ren says truthfully with a frown of his own, stopping the other two from ever responding. He only shakes his head at the looks the two blondes give him – the look of confusion, he should think – as he looks up at Yusuke. Even if he's already aware of the boy's reply, he still feels the need to answer this question with his own tongue. "But… if it would break them from the chains that society are holding them back with, give them the wings to fly and choose their own paths… then I'll do it. It's the only thing I'm good at, it's what I can do – and what I want to."

"Ren—" Morgana begins, but stops when Ren shakes his head before getting up to his feet.

"I didn't have the… happiest childhood," he says with a small, rueful smile, the memories of the past haunting him like his own shadows, stalking his every waking hour, sometimes loud like thunder, sometimes soft like the whisper of the wind. But they are always there, persistent and terrifying. "Never had a choice of my own, never had a place to belong. But being given this courage to actually say something for myself, to choose how my own life will play out… it doesn't make me happy, but it is liberating. And I want those who would allow our help to feel that, too – to be free of whatever shadows are clinging to them."

He doesn't – couldn't – look up at the others, but he feels them shift. Instead, he looks down at Morgana, who only smiles with his feline muzzle as he nudges Ren's leg from where he is on the floor, huddled up inside his bag. Then, Yusuke speaks up. "…It all depends on the other person, hm? Even if there's no one else who would really appreciate your efforts, would you still do it?"

"Yeah," Ann says, her voice firm and unrelenting. Ren looks up, only to see her smile, gentle and kind and so, so warm. "Because everyone deserves to be free, don't they?"

"Like you've done for me," Yusuke finally smiles, his eyes lingering on Ren for a moment longer before he nods firmly, his resolve strengthened, his heart steeled, his purpose set. "If we could set people free, like how I have been… indeed, it is a noble goal," Yusuke hums before chuckling half to himself. "Moreover, investigating the Palaces might expand my artistic repertoire."

"You only think about art, huh? Impressive," Ryuji grins.

"But I won't take part in any inelegant plans, alright?"

"No worries, I've got us covered!" Panther says happily.

"Dude, your priorities are so fucking mixed up," Ryuji grunts.

He smiles as they banter on, feeling the strings of the bonds between them growing stronger, the threads being spun into more than just a simple, fragile thing.

(He could feel a thought looming at the back of his mind, of Arsène's laughter growing louder and stronger as his powers grow, the emotions he's never felt slowly taking him over, one minute at a time. And while it terrifies him so, a part of him – one that grows ever larger – revels in it, welcomes its presence. His mind doesn't want to change, doesn't want to fight his own fate, because what awaits would only be his pain and misery. But this part of him wants him to prosper, wants him to resist the inevitable, too.

Somewhere in the world, a butterfly flaps its wings.)

"Why didn't you tell them?"

Morgana asks as soon as he splits off from the rest and pokes his head out of his bag worriedly. Ren only frowns as he makes his way through the dark street of Yongen-Jaya. "What do you mean?"

"Your arm," Morgana says matter of fact-ly, and he feels a frown creeping into his feature, only for him to push it down as the not-cat continues. "I noticed it since you drive – which is worrying in its own, you using your arm like that when you're injured – and I thought you would've told them, told us, about it."

"No point bothering you guys," he says simply as he rounds the corner, heading towards Takemi's clinic instead, seeing no point in keeping it a secret any longer. "I knew you were spent—"

"I was worried, you know," Morgana murmurs, his ears drooping down, eyes somewhere that is not here. "I am still worried about you. You can share your pain, too. It never will be a bother to us."

Ren only blinks, knowing full well that he shouldn't really be surprised, but he still is. He only allows himself a small frown as he sets his lips, unsure of what to actually say. But Morgana has been infinitely patient with him, and kind enough to keep the truth to himself until they are alone, so he at least owes the not-cat some form of… explanation, as unsatisfactory as that would've been.

So he sighs, stopping not too far away from where he needs to be, eyes set on the sun that's sinking past the skyline. After a small breath, he hums quietly. "I've… always had high pain tolerance, so it doesn't really bother me. The wounds, I mean."

"…You're not used to telling people about your injuries, are you?"

"No," Ren replies truthfully. Whenever he was injured, either from all the trainings and teachings he was given, or from his own incompetent, stupid self, he always had to keep them to himself. He couldn't let his pain show, couldn't allow anyone to see the wounds until after his father's gone, leaving him to lick at his own battered skin in silence, or with companies of physicians who don't care too much about the pain he has to go through. He had failed a few times, of course, since he also has his limits – and whenever that happened, he would be beaten and—

"I see," Morgana murmurs, cutting off his thoughts as he wriggles himself out of his bag more, resting his paws on his shoulder and nudging his temple with his nose, gently, kindly. "Whatever's happened before, you don't need to hold it to yourself anymore, Ren. We'll be there for you – so you can lean on us, too. You don't have to say anything. And we won't ask unless you want to talk about it."

He huffs a small laughter as he starts walking again, his footsteps echoing along the darkening street. After a while, he murmurs, leaning his head to the side, just enough to feel Morgana's fur on his scalp. And he is as warm as Ren always feel whenever he holds Morgana in his arms. "You're so kind, all of you."

Morgana takes it in stride, making Ren chuckles lightly. "Of course I am! I am Morgana, after all!"

After that, the silence is warm and comfortable, and Ren allows himself to relax despite the dull ache on his arm, the numbness of his fingertips and the way his sleeve is clinging to his skin. Then, Morgana meows as they see the entrance to Takemi's rather back-alley clinic, and slips back inside Ren's bag. He closes the zip, leaving just enough space for Morgana to breathe, before knocking on the door.

As soon as he does, it swings open, with a rather disgruntled gentleman stomping out, eyes a shade of terrible anger that makes Ren (and not Joker, never has been) wilts under his gaze. He immediately clutches at his injured arm, and the man spares Ren a second's worth of glance before walking away, his voice of displeasure being carried by the evening's wind.

Ren's eyes follow the man a moment longer than they should before he turns back, to see Takemi looking at him with a small frown, her eyes looking straight at his face. After a while, she sighs, shaking her head and centering herself. "…I'm sorry about that. What brings you here? It's getting pretty late."

"I… injured myself—" Ren says, and as soon as he does, the air shifts with contempt, one that makes his blood runs cold and snaps a coil in his stomach. He quickly adds, holding up his good hand – and shows her the blood coating his palm – as he does, "—I was, uh, involved in an accident. Cut my arm on a piece of metal, ma'am."

Takemi's frown only deepens, but her discontent is gone as she waves him in. When he closes the door, she sighs, muttering half to herself, "Seriously, what's with today? First someone wanting to trash my already screwed-up reputation, then this—"

"I could come back another d—"

"I didn't mean you, kid," she cuts him off, her voice annoyed and on edge. She gestures for him to sit down, and when he does, she heaves out another sigh as she prepares for a set of suture equipment – something he's all too familiar with – before mumbling. "…You seem like the kind who knows what he shouldn't, and lots of it. Have you heard about my reputation?"

"…Yes, ma'am," he says. He has been looking around whenever he has the time, collecting pieces of rumors floating in the neighborhoods, both the normal ones and the more… half-legal ones. She is called the Plague, banned from the medical community because of something she did. Then, he scowls, unsure of what to actually say. While she seems cynical and rather… eccentric, she doesn't feel, to him, like a bad person. He still feels the need to keep up his guards, since it's been drilled to him for all of his life, but he has a feeling that he could relax around her a little more. "I don't really believe in rumors."

"You should," Takemi hums as she turns to him, and after a brief look, gestures at his sleeve. He complies, slowly removing his jacket, and winces when she half-growl upon the sight of his turtleneck's bloodied sleeve. "Rumors are sometimes based on the truth, after all."

"I don't know exactly what happened, ma'am. I apologize, but… I don't have the right to judge anyone," he says, his mind adding without knowing anything about their situations without his consent. Arsène's voice, he recalls, but oddly soothing and calm.

"…You really are weird, you know that?" She says, but there's a hint of smile on her face as she drags the small table to the bedside. He winces as she rolls up his sleeve to his elbow, and scowls upon a set of deep gashes on his skin (and the faint scars that adorn across it like embroideries), enough to expose his bones and tendons, tearing off a part of them. "…These will need a lot of stitches, and I don't think I can—"

"It's alright, Takemi-san," he mumbles out. "I can take the pain. I don't have the money or the insurances to go anywhere else."

"…That so, huh?" She hums, taking a bottle of saline and a large bowl before she starts cleaning his wounds with it. When he doesn't openly react, one of her brows shoots up. She seems to want to ask him something – something she quickly changes into something else. "I know Sakura-san isn't your legal guardian, but isn't the deal all about him providing you with the necess—"

"Don't tell him," he says before he could stop himself, fear and bile rising to his throat, the taste terrible and acidic at the back of his mouth. He gulps, looking away, the feeling of saline dripping into his wounds all but forgotten. "He isn't – it isn't his fault, isn't his responsibility, so—"

"—Alright, I get it," she says finally, a hand patting his knee – one that he quickly pulls away from – before she goes back to dutifully dress his wounds. Her frown only deepens before she finally murmurs. "Tell you what – I don't tell Sakura-san what you came here for, but you have to tell me something about yourself, too. And no, it doesn't have to be anything personal. Just talk to me about anything. Relax."

He only frowns. "…Why? Not that I'm ungra—"

"Shush," Takemi silences him, and he feels his breath catch at his throat, only for it to ease when Takemi shrugs with a small, barely noticeable smile. "Just a way to get to know you, kid. I think we're more alike than I first thought, with how you disregard the rumors about me so casually and all. It could be… nice, to have someone who understands me to talk to."

He isn't too sure about that offer, but the feeling of the faint string of his bond, of Death Arcana, seems to sing in exultation. It is warm, and it feels just like spring, so he allows himself to be swayed by the melody of the thread of fates before he nods. "…Alright, Takemi-san. I will… try, if I can."

"That's good enough for me."

(Arsène is stronger, because he has never been able to feel the strings of his bonds so clearly like this before, weak and fragile as they are. But instead of being mortified by the change like he used to, he is… looking forward to it, Arsène's croon now turning less maddening and more like home, something he has never been able to feel, something he never knows he has always wanted to feel.

Somewhere in the world, a butterfly flaps its wings.)