I am not sure why I'm doing this to myself. There are lots of warnings to be applied, but I'll save that for later - there are lots, after all. Although, this chapter is special because it is from a certain boi's POV, but after this it is mostly from Ren's perspective. Be warned, though!
There are some canon divergence, but not so much as to drastically change it, at least not in P3 setting. The only thing is that Shinji is alive and well. As for P5... some changes, but still played out almost the same except for a change in Akechi... everything about him, actually, mwehehe.
Also, the name of the story and some elements are shamelessly brought about from a game called Hades - I suggest you check it out! The game is awesome!
Persona series and Hades belonged to Atlus and Supergiant games, respectively!
So, whenever a trigger-inducing chapter would come up, I would warn up here, in the author's note! Without further ado, here goes!
Prologue: In the Sea of Souls
Sense of self is a concept that is both foreign and oddly familiar.
Stretching the body and the soul into the Great Seal gives Makoto little time for reprieve after his death. He feels nothing, hears only the soft whirs of the space as it stirs all around and inside him, sees nothing but the occasional twinkling of the distant stars, and the sensation — if it could even be called so — he often feels is akin to sinking into the endless sea of little murmurs and memories of countless souls.
Amusingly enough, he still retains the memories from when he was alive — of friends irreplaceable, of love reciprocated, of life lived to the fullest. They keep him company when nothing but the deafening dark surrounds him, when there is naught to look but the sea of stars clustered at the horizon, when there is naught to feel but the lukewarm heat that engulfs him.
Makoto still hears Ryoji, from time to time, from the distant. From around him and within him. Whispers of encouraging words to keep him company, or hums of songs that are familiar to him. He could speak not a word, but Ryoji talks all the same, as if aware that he could hear what he says. When he thinks of an answer, he would get a reply, as odd as it sounds. It is as if Fate is allowing him a little window of rest from the weariness of infinitely drowning in the Sea of Souls.
And from the Sea of Souls are those that were born from the hearts of the people; of Personas both called upon and unseen Shadows, concealed under the invisible veils of darkness and stars. He could sometimes feel something hums and stirs inside him. He isn't sure how the Sea of Souls works, and it was only from what little conversations he'd had with the residents of the Velvet Room that he knows at all that he's drowning inside it – the bottomless abyss born from all humans' hearts.
Not long – he thinks, since time is as defined as the endless expanse of stars before him, here – after his death, he thinks someone pulls something out of his soul. Pulled Orpheus away. The strums of Orpheus' lyre can no longer be felt, and he's left with emptiness that is soon filled by the sludge-like texture of the void that encases him. It feels strange, maybe even a little unsettling, but he finds the aspect of his power being drawn by someone else as worrying as it is exciting. Who could it have been, that drew from him the power he manifested by his fearlessness against Death?
Could it perhaps have been one of his family, his friends, his life, that called for it? Or could it have been someone else entirely, a stranger that is connected to him by the strands of fate that the Nornir seems to weave in mysterious ways? Alas, all he knows is that, before it departed, Orpheus played him a song he knows not by name, but by the lyrics sang to him directly into his own exhausted soul. And one part of the words, in particular, makes him feel lighter – if such an expression could be used to describe what he's feeling, without a body, floating through the vast void of space.
Loves in your life, Live ever on. Home – is not where you live, but who cares when you're gone.
He wonders, if Orpheus knows, just how much the words ring true, just how elating and painful they are to him?
A great stretch of time later, he hears a voice, thunderous and demanding, from around him.
You are the Universe. I see now, that Fate is as cruel to you as it is fair.
He frowns – or, something of the like, seeing that he's nothing but the lingering consciousness deep inside the sea of countless souls – at the mention of the Universe. He knows not who it is, or why the voice could reach him. But, he supposes, since Ryoji's whispers could be heard from time to time, that it is not as far-fetch as he thinks it is. And, since the Sea of Souls is where he drew the many masks that are Personas from, he thinks… this one might be just that – a part of a person's psyche, stands ready to be called upon.
As if it has heard his inquiry, the voice speaks again, a little softer, like the rumbling of the lightning cloud after a fierce storm. I am Izanagi, the God of Lightning. Let me ask this of you; what stirs you to make such a sacrifice, what drives you towards this height of absolute power? What allows you to reach the deepest part of the Sea, where few could even hope to steal a glance from?
He ponders on the many questions this one asked. And then, he wills his thoughts to focus on forming words that might allow him to reply to the whispered inquiry. I want to protect the bonds I've made, the people I love. I think… without them, without my friends, I wouldn't have been able to achieve this miracle.
Interesting, he hears the voice, Izanagi, hums. There is a pause of silence, where nothing but the constant hum of the endless macrocosm could be felt, where Makoto isn't quite certain just what he should think of next. After what feels like not as long as before Orpheus was stripped away from him, Izanagi hums again, the feeling of the sound no more than mere whispers, soothing, soft, unlike the thunderous barks or the rumbles from before. Is this existence… torturous?
He doesn't think so. It is strange, neither painful nor painless, neither joyous nor excruciating. It is a simple existence that leaves him wishing to return and feel things like he used to, but not so much that he would wish to relinquish the making of the Seal just to escape from it. It's like… walking in between the line of life and death, of light and dark, where nothing is bound by the rules of the universe, but is shackled by the unspoken decree of the Fate.
Fate is a fickle thing, Izanagi voices, and for the first time in forever, he could see – the visage of a king of steel, sitting on the throne of swords and lightning, yellow eyes boring into his nonexistent ones. When he does take in the image before him, the voice continues, from around and within, like always. It creates gods and monsters, yet it weaves the threads to aid those that would fight against those deities, against the very existences it has given birth to.
He isn't quite used to the concept of Fate, but Igor often speaks of it, as the beaten path that he is destined to take since the day he was born. Yet, Fate can sometimes be changed, like how he prevented Shinjirou's death from ever coming to pass, like how he forced himself to live after being shot and beaten and broken, when he should've fallen and died.
Yet again, Izanagi speaks, legs crossed, the long sword-spear hanging from the emptiness beside his form, his fingers curling slightly. And here you are, as Fate would have it. Sacrificed like a lamb, to give the world a chance, to stop the Darkness from ever reaching Death, to stop Mankind from seeking their own demise by the countless, hidden desires for salvation through destruction. Fate is indeed a cruel and unforgiving master, like the biting cold of winter, like the searing heat of the sun.
He isn't sure what to make of it. But, even if Fate hadn't dictated him to do so, he would have created the Great Seal again anyway, since the duty of becoming the barrier between Erebus and Nyx is not something he would allow anyone else to do. He had lived a good life, no matter how brief – and to give it all up to become the gate that stops the Fall is something he would choose to do again and again, even without Fate's wicked influence.
A chuckle, low, echoes and bounces around the invisible walls of his boundless prison. I see now, why you are the one who gains the approval of the Universe. You fought against inevitable Fate, but when Fate decreed upon you to relinquish your life for it in order to protect people that are both dear and strangers, you did so without a doubt. Sink further now, my boy, and you may yet find the one who stands above even the Thread Weaver. I have little doubt we shall meet again, no matter how long it may be.
He's then left in the dark once more.
The endless whispers of both good and evil, of murderers and kingmakers, of saviors and destroyers, is driving his mind into the brink of insanity.
Indeed, such would be the case, where no voices could be subdued, no thoughts could be guarded against, no agonizing screams or cries of orders could be stifled. Figuratively, being here has allowed him to see it all – the darkness within one's souls, the brightness of hope and humility. Both sides of the spectrums are clashing and whirling, mixing into the pools of tar-like sludge within his soul, where maddening thoughts are turned into crazed roars that ricochet inside him endlessly.
He is thankful, for Ryoji's voice that is anchoring him to what he would call the isle of sanity, where he could think and retain the sense of self, where he could still remember soft words and kind embraces that used to be with him. Sometimes, he would hear the low rumbling that sounds like the masks he used to wear – like the Personas he used to call, that would drive away the devouring lunacy that often threatens to swallow whole his already shattered soul.
Sometimes, it would be Kohryu, the gentle dragon that growls and rumbles all around him, curling around his ethereal body, giving him intangible warmth that soothes his soul. Sometimes, it would be the Sisters of Fate – the Norns – that would conjure up the breeze in the windless void to pacify his raging mind. Sometimes, it would be the devil – Lucifer – with his great wingspans that keeps him under his protection and gives him a little chance of free thoughts.
After a few cycles of insane laughter and comforting hums of the Personas, he hears Ryoji again, his voice perhaps a little… strained, is the best word he could come up with. Like always, it echoes and bounces around and inside him. Makoto, are you alright?
Alright is a term that couldn't be used to describe his state any longer. He doesn't even have a tangible, material body to begin with. He could neither be alright nor in great agony as is. But, as far as the remnants of his memories and his sense of self go, he supposes such word could still be applied. So he wills his mind to think, loud enough for Ryoji to hear. I think so.
There is a pause, where only the low buzzing of the space fills the windless void, before Ryoji speaks again, a little pensive, perhaps. I see… I'm sorry, for not being of much help. I… don't know what else I could've done, except for…
It's alright, he thinks. You are here, sometimes. That is enough to keep me grounded – even if there is no such thing as ground here in this void.
A fond chuckle. That is true. Well, I am here now. Let me keep you company for as long as I'm able.
He would've smiled if such thing is possible, but he settles for letting his soul lets out a reverberating hum that echoes softly into the abyss. He is then left with little but his thoughts and the ever presence whispers of numerous wandering souls that occupy and make this very Sea. After a moment – a moment he is no longer certain takes how much time in the real world, since time has lost its regularity and linearity a long while ago – he asks. Why are you still here with me?
Why can't I be? comes the immediate reply that he gets, his voice filled with mirth. There is another moment of silence, before his voice dances into his soul again, softer, this time. I owe you everything. And you are important yo me, so I want to be here. You gave me a part of you, Makoto. Finding you in the abyss is actually easier than you might think. But wading through so many voices and souls is a bit of work, so when I lost you, it'd take me a while to find you again.
That… actually explains the occasional absence of his voice. Then, what he said really strikes him – find him again? He's lost Ryoji's voices more times than he cares to count, but to keep hearing him over and over means – So, you keep seeking me out, over and over? Just to stay by my side?
It's the least I could do for you, after all the pain I've caused, Ryoji voices sadly. There is a small sigh before he continues. You've given me much already. This is the least I could've done, for your sake. Besides, I have all eternity here, and not a single thing to do. Even if there are things to keep me distracted, finding you is still my priority.
He wants to laugh, he really does, at the absurdity of his reasonings. Ryoji had done nothing wrong; he didn't have a choice when he became what he is, when he was created as Nyx Avatar. Yet, despite the circumstances, he didn't embrace his role entirely – he helped them, gave them information, gave him the push he needed to carry out the miracle that allowed him to mold his soul into the Great Seal.
Instead, he settles for what he could – a few words, communicated through the corridor between their souls created by the bond that they share. You know, Ryoji, if I was a girl, that would've made me head over heels for you. Flirtiness really is in your nature, even like this.
Oh, shut up, He could imagine a pout on Ryoji's face as he thinks – or says, or whatever – that line. But then, his voice softens ever so slightly. I'm trying to find a way to free you – without breaking the Seal, of course, since that would defy who and what you are – but I'm stuck. I want to at least pull you out of here, to at least save you from going insane. You would, eventually, sooner or later.
There is a grim truth not so hidden in those words, and Makoto knows this best. Even the temporary reprieves he would get from the Personas he used to wear and call for won't be enough to push back the waves of insanity that would creep ever closer. He knows this, and he's afraid – afraid of losing his loves for his friends (and of a certain girl in pink), afraid of forgetting what made him. If those ever happened—
Makoto, Ryoji calls again, pulling him out from the musing he's having. He focuses on his voice as they bounce inside him again, gently. I'll try my best to help you. I'll keep finding you, wherever you are. So, don't give in, okay? I promise, I'll try to pull you out of there. You deserve better than this. You should have had a better fate than this.
I'll hold you onto that, He replies, before letting his consciousness drifts back into the bottomless pits of the abyss.
A great while later, where the drones of the endless void has already settled in, another voice stirs him, this time as carefree as it is cautious.
The Universe! Why, such audacity, as to reach so far into the Sea of Souls!
He still couldn't see a thing, but feels the strange pull, like strands of webs, of curses hissed and whispered into his mind. The feeling soon fades away, and he hears laughter of a trickster, joyous, rebellious, as the sounds of fluttering wings fills the void in his being. Makoto thinks he hears the familiar voice of Ryoji reaching him, more curious than furious, and the new voice quickly swats him away.
No wonder you are favored by the Universe itself! Such heroism, such bravery, as to face the absolute Death and defy it! Such a pity that Fate would fling you into this endless void, with countless, meaningless voices buzzing around you like insignificant insects! The voice rumbles with enthusiasm, like a collector finding a new artifact of great worth, or perhaps of a child gifted a new toy. The voice then says, just a little softer. Ah! Pardon my rudeness. How uncivilized of me! I am Arsene, or Raoul, if you would prefer. The great Phantom Thief, at your service!
Unlike Izanagi, with the bearings of a king and an emperor, this… Arsene seems a character of a deceiver, of someone who takes great pleasure in deceptions and rebellions. He would have blinked twice, had he the eyelids to do so. Instead, he just lets the hum resonates through the great void that stirs around and beyond him, signaling that indeed, he has heard that.
Not a talkative one, I see, Arsene hums, seemingly amused. Then, much like with Izanagi, he could see more than just glittering starts at the edge of his visions – a gentleman thief, with face and horns like the devil himself, wings of rebellion adorning his back. He bows, the everlasting grin widening just a little more. But I understand. Retaining your sense of self at all, this deep in the Sea of Souls, where both virtues and malice brew and mix together, is already an impressive feat in and of itself. I wonder – do you perhaps have someone to keep you company?
I do, He decides to answer, seeing no point in lying. He has learned by now, through the time he has spent drowning and sinking deeper and deeper in here, that every Personas are connected. It would be of no surprise to him that this Arsene would already have known about an existence that is tied to him in ways that couldn't be severed. His name is Mochizuki Ryoji… although, he is better known as Nyx Avatar.
There is a pause, before a surprised hum escapes Arsene. The thief then rears back and laughs, the sound thundering inside him. Nyx Avatar! You mean Thanatos, that God of Death? No wonder I see him around so often! That strange creature is tied to you, then! Marvelous! To think you befriend even Death, boy! I am very pleased with this information!
He isn't even sure how this Arsene could've pieced together that Ryoji is Thanatos in the first place, but he is more surprised by what it said – that he is seen in the Sea of Souls, probably looking for him and staying by his side, even when he couldn't see or feel him through any means except for the low hums that would accompany his arrival – hums that sounds like soft whistles of the clarinet. He's pleasantly taken aback by the knowledge of the extend in which his Death would go for him. He'll ask Ryoji about this later, whenever next they meet… if he still retains his sanity, that is.
You see, Arsene begins again, drawing his attention to him. I am about to sign a contract with a rebel, a trickster, of a kind. I've seen Wild Cards come and go, but none are quite like you. This one, too – he is strong, both heart and soul, although he doesn't come close to what you are, what you were. But Fate dictates that you are to remain here for an eternity, the time that would strip you of who you are, that would turn you into no more than dusts floating in this dim Sea, being swallowed whole by the expanding darkness. Yet, your Death still tirelessly searches for a way to rescue you from such a grim fate. Many have tried, I have seen so – but none have succeeded. I wonder – would he be able to do so? Or would a miracle be no more than mere past achievement of yours, now?
It doesn't matter, he responds, resolutely. It doesn't matter if he was to lose his sense of self, sooner or later. If it's inevitable, then so be it. And, much like before, it doesn't mean that he would allow such thing to come to pass without putting up a fight. I will still fight. It's what I know how to do best. And having hope is not such a bad thing, is it?
…Interesting, boy, Arsene hums. Then, he approaches where he — who is but a speck of consciousness that has nothing akin to a body to speak of — is. Perhaps you would be able to hold out, after all. There is a single entity that is capable of granting you such miracle, that could make happen what we deem an impossibility. You have called once a miracle no one thought possible through your bonds. Who is to say that something of that nature won't occur again, with the bond you have between you and your Death?
What do you mean? He decides to ask, more curious than hopeful. He would hope for it to happen, of course, since he doesn't want to lose the memories of his precious ones, but he is no longer afraid of it. What do you mean, by an entity that would grant me a miracle of that scale?
It is but a speculation. The High One cannot be fathomed, not by you, not by us. But, if he takes interest in you, then perhaps… Ah! But that is just a speculation! I've wasted too much time talking nonsense with you, boy! Let us return to what I originally intend to inquire you! The Persona dances gleefully, taking up all of his field of visions. If you would allow me to, of course.
I do, He replies. He has nothing better to do — not that he could, in the first place — right now, anyways, and a talk with a Persona that would sign a contract with another Wild Card could prove interesting and entertaining on its own.
Wild Cards all draw their powers from this place, from this Sea of Souls. I've seen you interacted with many strong ones before. If you're given the chance to wind back time itself, would you still sign the contract and fight, knowing that one day, you would end just like this? In a state where oblivion is your final destination? Arsene asks, its voice curious. Even a bit sympathetic, if he is to be honest.
The question, fortunately, is something he could readily answer without so much as a thought. I will, no matter how painful it is, or how much it hurts. They are important to me.
Even if they have already forgotten about you?
Even then, he replies firmly.
There is a long beat of nothingness, where Arsene puts his slender fingers on his chin, the perpetual grin on his visage shifting just slightly, no longer as delighted as moments prior. Then, he snaps his fingers once before pointing at him, or where his sense of self, is. We shall meet again, of that I am certain. But when, or how, that is beyond me. Keep your wits with you, boy. If you lost your mind to this ceaseless flow of insignificant souls first, then it's all over.
He isn't given the chance to reply when Arsene melts into the void, returning the maddening darkness back to his senses once more.
It isn't long after that when a change happens.
He sees a hand, with the cross-strapped wristwatch — unmistakably Ryoji's — reaching out in his direction, and then he feels his wrist, that should've been no more than soups of shadows, being grasped by fingers, cold like ice, but gentle. He's overwhelmed — the very sense of being touched by a tangible body has long since become foreign to him, at this point, where time lost its continuity, where whispers lost their meanings, where the incessant buzzes of souls are inescapable.
He is then pulled — he isn't sure, it's been eons since he's felt anything remotely human — upwards, and the next sensation he feels is fire in the middle of his chest and the dampness and the tingles on his limbs. He then breathes in the stale, rancid air that makes him coughs and coughs until everything that's blurred is focusing themselves back into shapes.
"Makoto!" Ryoji thinks, or says, or — whatever, but the voice is not from everywhere, but from a direction, right by his side. Then, hands — hands on his should be ethereal arms and shoulders, touching, soothing, cold and hot at the same time. "I've got you! I've got you!"
"I'm pleasantly surprised to see that the thief and the kingpin decided to aid you in your search, Death," A foreign voice calls from behind him, he thinks, as his hands remain on the invisible floor that he could feel but not see. "I've seen this boy for quite some time now. To actually meet him with a material body is… somewhat of an astonishment. You are younger, and perhaps more broken, than I thought you would be, for a Wild Card that could tap into the powers from the endless well of the Universe."
He blinks — he could blink, and see, that under his hand are the stars, like diamond dusts and aurora veils and beauty beyond what he could describe. Numerous swirling dots of light are melded into galaxies of many shapes and colours, scattering across the endless canvas of space. He then breathes once, twice, before looking up—
"Ryo… ji…?" He says — he can speak and he has a voice, not just a thought floating in the dark anymore. But he could bear uttering no more than a few words before the fire returns to his core, and he's gasping again, for — something. Air, he thinks.
"Shh, take it easy, take it easy," Ryoji says, firm hands steadying him. He then sees the boy shifts his head up, looking at something behind him. "I still can't believe it. That there's someone who could do this. The rumours are true, then? That you…"
"What? You Personas can spread rumours, now?" The voice barks out a laughter, delighted. "But then again, you were all born from the Sea of Souls. You are all born from humans. Being like humans should've been a given, should it not?"
"I… guess so," Ryoji murmurs, seemingly distracted, his cold hand placed on Makoto's heaving chest as he tries to make head and tail out of things. His hands then find what he thinks to be Ryoji's shirt and grab it, as a confirmation that he now has a body, perhaps. "When you were drowning in the Sea of Souls, I… found someone, at the very bottom. That's where we are — at the deepest pits of the Sea. This is where, uh, he resides."
"Let the boy centre himself a moment, Death," The voice says, amused. Makoto looks to the side, still too dazed and too pained to look up, to see orbs of dim but warm light lingering around the place. He could faintly hear excited whispers of languages unknown, and could see the shifting and flickering images of man-like creatures and beasts from heaven and hell. Then he sees someone comes into his field of view, very much human-like, with brown trench coat and mahogany vest, a gentle smile and grayed-out hair and beard. "We're at where the souls are the most powerful. He will need time to adjust."
He feels Ryoji nods as his cold hands keep Makoto up. He could see and feel droplets of black water dripping from his hair and his body, scarred beyond repair. He then glances at his right hand, shot open from that day during the Dark Hour, where he manages to save Shinjirou from Takaya, with blackened, warped skin and crooked fingers. He's… "I… I'm the… same?"
"Not quite same, my boy," The old man chuckles. "Your body, so to speak, is created from your own memories. This is the state you last remember yourself as. And I must say, you're thoroughly trampled and broken, body and soul. I could only imagine the pain you have to go through."
He only shakes his head, unsure of what to think or say, instead clutching onto the fabric under his fingers like a lifeline, his body cold, the lukewarm heat from before has long since gone. After another set of quickened breaths, he tries to — do something. Sit up, or stand, or whatever, but he finds himself lacking any sort of strength, and he falls right into Ryoji's waiting arms. The other boy then pats his back lightly, in reassurance, before he murmurs. "Take your time, Makoto. No need to rush."
He nods again, leaning his head against his Death's surprisingly toned chest. A few more breaths, and he murmurs. "What… happened…?"
"He found me, your Death," The old man says, and he turns his head enough to see a smile. It is only then does he realizes that the man's sclera is pitch black, like the void, his irises as red as blood. The man then smiles wider, and before long his eyes are all but concealed under his lids. "But of course, I only help those I deem interesting and worthy enough. You, fortunately, are both! You are the first from the Sea of Souls I'll be more than willing to form a Pact with, you see."
"…Pact?" He repeats, eyes turning back to Ryoji, his face pale and his eyes wide.
"You said nothing about a contract!" Ryoji quickly protests, holding his form just a little tighter. He still couldn't move much, but he shifts his head a little, to take a better look at the man.
"Of course I have not, since I hadn't intended to form the Pact with you to begin with, Death," The man laughs, kneeling down beside him, his smile directed at Makoto. "You see, my boy, equivalent exchange is the key to everything in the universe. I intend not to just pull you out of the Sea — and directly saving you from being consumed by madness — but also giving you both a chance to walk in the world of the living again! I won't be ordering you to do something that goes against your beings, of course. I am not so much of a sadist as the Fate, as to force you against your wish."
A second chance to… live? For the both of them? It seems too good to be true, even if it's possible. He turns to look at Ryoji, who's giving him an expression that's a mixed of pain, worry, and hope. Makoto knows he doesn't mind staying dead forever, but — he wants to give Ryoji a chance to live, too, since his previous life had been written into stone, forcing him to relinquish his humanity just to become the dreaded Avatar of Death.
So, he breathes, before murmuring. "…What… about… the Seal…?
"Cautious, I see," The man hums, amused. "But, very well. Worry not about the Seal, I shan't allow it to break. The end of the world would make for a dull and colourless ending, and such is not my taste. This is the Pact, where you are bound to me, to do as I say. Of course, I'll not ask you to kill a person or something of that nature. It is not me to force people's hands. But I do need someone, from time to time, to help regulate the world from becoming too chaotic."
"Regulate… the world…?"
"Ah, I apologize, I have not spoken to both of you about this yet," The man bows, and his smiles widen, more sinister, more… nerve-wrecking. "I am what some people called the High One, but I'm more commonly known by my name. I am Chaos, the All Father, the first Primordial God to ever exists."
He isn't sure what the man speaks of, but Ryoji knows — he tenses almost instantly, and his arms are tighter around his still drenched frame. Then, Ryoji hisses, his voice low and threatening. "I don't care who you are, but I won't allow you to put him through any more pain. If you do, I'll kill you."
A chuckle. "How bold of you, to challenge the Original Primordial. But then again, this just makes all of this even more interesting. Rest assured, I do not intend to bring you both back to the earth just to plunge you back into the abyss, no. That would be boring, would it not?"
Ryoji scoots back, and draws him closer to his chest still. Makoto couldn't quite see much, but he knows under his skin that, while the man's words are warped with indecipherable goals, they're the truth. So, he pulls at Ryoji's shirt a little, and the other boy glances down at him, confused. He groans, still not used to physical exertions or the strains of talking, and murmurs. "He's… telling… the truth…"
"Makoto…?"
"Your intuition is much shaper than what I've originally thought, my boy," The man hums, seemingly satisfied, the murmurs of light and souls floating around them a bit softer. "Why would I mince words, when I could just force you to do my biddings at a snap of my fingers? But that would be boorish and dull. So, I extend my offer to you, Yuuki Makoto — not just a chance to live, but a chance to stop the uncontrolled chaos from expanding. The Pacts of Punishments are reserved only for those I've deemed interesting enough, and you are the first in a while, my boy. Are you ready?"
He isn't sure of what would transpire, should he be bound to this Pact of Punishment, but… what he knows, deep in his soul, is that this is the only way that would allow him to give Ryoji a chance to live to the fullest, to enjoy life that he's only had a few weeks' worth to live. Still, words from a God is not something to be believed at face value. "Not… yet… I want… to know… more…"
"Ah, did I forget to mention, boy?" He says with a grin, and suddenly, he's thrown back, Ryoji kneeling between him and Chaos. But the man doesn't flinch, only smiling a little wider. "I am giving neither of you a choice."
Searing pain rips through the back of his left hand, and he could see a mark of some sort, a ship's wheel-like mark with ridges and sharp edges, being burnt into his skin. He looks up, to see Ryoji's terrified face, and the old man's wicked grin.
"You are now bound to me. Now go out there and live, boy. There's still a long road ahead of you yet."
And with that, all he could feel is the rapidly expanding darkness that engulfs him whole.
So... yeah! There is this. I guess I should remind you yet again that this story is mostly Ren-centric, all the way to... from what my draft is, it should take a good as while for Makoto to even show up again. Altho Ryoji will be in much ealier! :D Yey!
Take care, my guys and galls! I'll see you soon (hopefully, but it will take a while lol)!