Chapter Thirty Six: The Turn of the Screw - Part One

The Lord sat in his throne in the middle of some hazy non-site. The situation was nothing new to Akira Kurusu. For the better part of a year, he was continuously summoned to audience with a mysterious individual from the discomfort of his cell. Same as back then, Akira was now also called forth from dream by someone who violated the integrity of the Velvet Room – just like Yaldabaoth.

"Nyarlathotep." Akira spoke calmly, standing tall in the fog that separated him from the Crawling Chaos.

"Young man Akira Kurusu." Nyarlathotep spoke affably. He wore the face of the young man's father, as per his disturbing habit. Akira was no longer affected by this.

"What do you want?"

"Want…" The Dark Lord prolonged every portion of the utterance. He gauged the word, contemplated it, as well as any possible answers he could give to the young man's question. Or so it may have appeared. Akira already knew he was only toying with him. "In all candour, I have no wants anymore, 'Kurusu-san'. All I yearned for is already prepared for, and it is only a matter of time till the world your kind inhabit and all that dwell within is within my reach." He chuckled. "What more could anybody want?"

Akira did not entertain him with a response.

"My Joker is in your world now, young man. Want is no longer in my nature. But there is a reason for which I called you here. Can you guess it?"

No reply.

"Why, it is gratitude, and only that. I wish to thank you – that is where all the want in me ends. It is all thanks to you that I was able to craft my knight to do my bidding. The fate of your kind, the ultimate defeat of Philemon. None of it would be possible without you."

"I would never help you. And I never did! You did something to me to make your so-called 'knight'" Akira snapped. "And your plans will end in ruin, I promise you. We will defeat you."

"Please, young man." Nyarlathotep smiled widely, in a way Takahisa never had in his life. "Do not waste precious energy on promises that cannot be acted upon. It is over. My knight already walks in your midst. He will bring me your world, and his success is a guarantee. True, you did not provide the ingredients knowing, or willingly. But its power, its potential, and its mortiferous drive, it all comes from you."

"I will destroy it." Akira seethed.

Nyarlathotep rose his hand in diplomatic fashion.

"Exactly. That cold, sharp anger in you. That was as golden to me as the power of the Wild Card. And the fear and despair you experienced in that awe-inspiring moment! I knew right there and then… That was the make I pined after for so long, compound with the power of the Wild Card, and the circumstances that made it happen… Well, you could say that my victory was assured from that very moment. And, though you claim you did not help of your own accord, your very deliberate actions as a Phantom Thief led to that moment. So, in a way, you did."

The young man's silence was almost loud with the hatred pulsing fast through his being.

"But please, back to the reason of this little chat. Since you have been such a useful asset to me, it is only fair that I reward you! And I know precisely how."

Akira's legs grew weak inside of the dream, translating into subtle spasms in his bed. The last he saw of Nyarlathotep in this spell of night was the same face he chose, familiar to Akira and simultaneously alien, bearing a crooked grin that reached far beyond the physical confines of flesh. It was a sight to brand an individual's sanity for life. But for Akira, it only fuelled a toxic fire inside of him further.

I have a present for you, young man Akira Kurusu.

I know you will be pleased.

[ ]

Day in and day out, life became a dull affair for Masayoshi Shido behind bars. Years ago, the very notion of not being at the top filled him with a revulsion he could tangibly experience in the pit of his stomach. It was like hunger constantly turning to nausea; something too revolting to constantly live with. Everything he did to make it to the top ultimately amounted to suppressing that feeling, and ironically it all led to his downfall. He was now so far removed from the summit that he may well be a different person altogether – one never destined for greatness, never destined to captain the fate of Japan.

But in truth, he never was. Masayoshi Shido, once the most prominent candidate to become the nation's Prime Minister, was not destined for greatness any more than anyone else. This is something he realised after his change of heart. By then, the compound of his deeds fell on him through their own weight. And all that was left of his future was a life sentence. He faced the years ahead of him with calm acceptance.

This was, after all, the road he paved himself, even if he had not realised it at first. His ruin began with hubris, on one night of excess. In his pride and whim, Shido tried to destroy a young man's life without a care. But that same young man eventually spearheaded the equivalent comeuppance. It was the sort of 'poetic justice' so lauded by an outsider, and so loathed by a recipient. However, Shido could not resent Akira Kurusu; he had no grounds to.

Sometimes he was not sure Akira Kurusu resented him for bringing about such a forceful detour in his life. On the other hand, there was one other young man who undoubtedly resented him, whose life was destroyed by Shido's will. And that was none other than his own son, Goro Akechi. The Black Mask may have taken lives, but behind each death was Shido's command. He probably would never have been a good father to Goro. But he could have steered the young man away from the murderous craft, allowed him as a normal a life as he should have had.

That chance was lost forever. Goro Akechi was dead, killed by Shido's cognition of him as an expendable asset. From where he stood, with life in confinement ahead of him, Masayoshi Shido may well have pulled the trigger himself.

These are reflections that have been occupying his head for the past few days. His life, present and future – they were linked to the lives of two young men. He did great harm upon them – something from which he could and would not turn away. It only made sense that he felt like this. So guilty, yet so hollow. But not quite alone, despite the seclusion of his imprisonment.

For lately, when day becomes night, and the walls of the cell appear to close in on him, the phantom guises of Akira Kurusu and Goro Akechi have taken to visit him. They never say or do a thing as they quietly roam about his cell. The two barely seem to look at Shido, but there is a fleeting glance every now and then, and that screams louder than even the masses in the immediate aftermath of his trial. To the prisoner, it was a strange, though fitting shape for his conscience to judge him.

Day in and day out, life and time lose their meaning. There is no fear, desires, or future. His present becomes his past as the days go by. There is nothing else, not even the slow, constant wear of the routine. He is content with this.

[ ]

The iced coffee beverage sat on the desk, next to piles of notebooks and DVDs. Yuuki Mishima thought the cool, sweetened caffeine jolt may help jumpstart the necessary ideas, but the glass remained untouched, and the inside of his head was a formless cloud. But even if it took him all night, he would come up with one idea at least – a way to help out the Phantom Thieves.

The information gained from the latest meeting was good material to work with, but the sum of it was hardly encouraging. Nyarlathotep's plans and means were known, and so were the ramifications. On the other hand, the objective was clean and neatly outlined. And therein lay the problem: to save Susumu Kamiyama, and prevent the cursed exodus into Nyarlathotep's world, the Phantom Thieves would need to defeat his enforcer.

This posed a perilous incognita. They had never faced Nyarlathotep's Joker themselves. The only notion of his power was a frightening, seemingly effortless display against Akira's botched replicas. Though the Phantom Thieves could become stronger to face the challenge, the Joker certainly would if left unchecked. Time and uncertainty were against them. Only one other alternative remained, but to face Nyarlathotep himself in a world of his own design could mean suicide, even if his power was considerably diminished after his exile.

Akira seemed quite confident when explaining it all in LeBlanc; almost too confident. Nobody outright seemed to share in Yuuki's suspicion at the café, but Makoto Niijima afforded him some candour later in the day through a text conversation. It appeared that the team's lieutenant shared Yuuki's concerns, to some extent at least. The aftermath of the mission was a harsh dawn for the Phantom Thieves. The ecstasy of victory over the Moon Howler wore off, and they had no choice but to finally see the menace waiting over the horizon. And yet, Akira seemed strangely calm about it all.

He must already have known, she said through her text message.

Most of the team were fairly cheery on the way back. Makoto partook of the small celebration in her own way: by holding Akira, discreet and closely, in that particular way she sorely missed. Nobody knew, but she later chided herself for not realising sooner. Akira must have been dreading the battle to come against the spawn borne of his torment. Makoto thought that maybe his eagerness was a way to fight his own unease.

Or maybe, it was to quell his friends' unease as well.

Makoto remained close to him throughout the remainder of the day, open for anything he wished to express. He insisted there was nothing to say. But his confidence felt grey and hollow to her; it seemed a mask all too elaborate. She was in the dark about what to say or do. So she hoped that following the path ahead without a stumble would suffice.

And that is why Yuuki Mishima could not allow himself to rest until he came up with something.

Despite the clarity of their objective, and the diverse means available to them, the Phantom Thieves may still be in the dark. And they would be the ones to fight off this evil and perhaps even put their lives on the line. Yuuki could not even stomach the notion, unavoidable as it may be. He swore to put his shoulder to the wheel, for the sake of all, even if his contribution were only a puny, flickering light.

The young man thought about the people who put requests on the PhanSite back in the day. He wondered if the Phantom Thieves were a light for them as well. A shimmer of hope, so small at first, but increasingly strong and bright as the months passed.

What must it have been like, for the first people who submitted a request? They must have been doubtful, sceptical – but above all, desperate. A change of heart must have been the last resort for some of these people. One of those first requests was a woman relentlessly stalked by her ex, one Natsuhiko Nakanohara, who in turn suffered by the deeds of another. Had things gone differently, perhaps he too would have eventually put a request in the PhanSite.

And the curious thing is Nakanohara eventually led to exposing a man who put many others through terrible torment: Ichiryusai Madarame. The Phantom Thieves stopped the predatory abuse he inflicted on many young artists, and brought justice to these ruined people. The providers of Madarame's spurious collection were in the dark, and suddenly there was light.

It must have been a rush to see Madarame confessing to his crimes in live television, broadcast to the entire country. The Phantom Thieves then stepped into the spotlight, from under the shadow of rumour and gossip. They could no longer be ignored, and they would only get more popular from then on. It was such a big display for the Phantom Thieves on the day of Madarame's confession – it may as well have become a national holiday.

Suddenly, Yuuki Mishima sprung up from his bed, crudely landing in front of his desk to frantically look through the log he maintained from the now defunct PhanSite.

He had something.

Only a rough idea at the moment, but he could not wait to flesh it out, and for his friends to hear it.

[ ]

Takahisa Kurusu was all alone at the port that day.

It was a rare thing for activity to die down like this in Kawasaki, and it was only six in the afternoon. Most of the ships were docked, but there was always work to be done. The boys who played basketball in their makeshift court well into the night always showed up around sunset, and they too were nowhere to be seen or heard.

The hulking fisherman thought of going home, but he found little reason to. His wife Masako was on duty at the hospital tonight. And his son Akira was in Tokyo, building a life of his own; the cat was over in the city with him.

It had been a while since he last heard his son's voice, the man thought.

Sojiro Sakura never did tell him or Masako about Akira's disappearance, much to his own shame. As far as the young man's parents knew, their son was living well and happy. But though Takahisa's thoughts were devoid of fear about his son, they were not joyous either.

In fact, he missed his son quite terribly.

If he went home for an early night, he would not merely find an empty house. The fisherman was sure he would encounter a host of memories clinging to everything, like ghosts. Akira's toddler laughs held on to the walls and the furniture, as well as his long and peculiar conversations with the cat during his final year as a high school student. But between those two stages in the young man's life, there was a chasm of silence. The young man had always been provided for, but Takahisa knew food and a roof did not keep a person whole. It was an acknowledgement long due for him, and each day that went by made it only harder.

Akira grew up a lonely child.

Takahisa could never reproach Masako for it. Yet it dawned on him how bad it must be for one's parents to be workaholics. And that was not even the worst Akira had to endure. When the young man was wrongly accused of assaulting someone, Takahisa would not say a single word to Akira. And for this, he could and would reproach himself all of his life, and it still may not undo the harm it must have done his son.

What did Akira feel then? Like he was abandoned, disowned by a father who would not show him any support during his darkest hour? Akira was not guilty of a thing. The punishment was not his to bear, and neither was the burden of Takahisa's ghosts. The fisherman could never ignore the kind of life he had come from, growing up labelled a lowlife, a thug, a thief - and eventually believing it all.

Meeting Masako Kurusu made him believe in miracles, and providence. Her presence in his life deafened him to the voices that sunk him into the dirt. And soon, all he had ears for was her. He married her, and took her surname so as not to sully her with his own. And when Akira was born, Takahisa vowed to devote everything to keeping his son from the life he knew as a child and teenager.

But at the first fallacious sign of Akira turning out like he, Takahisa turned his back on his own son.

God knows how the young man lived the following year, feeling betrayed by his father. It was not without friction, but Akira seemed to have forgiven him upon his return to Kawasaki. Their bond started to mend, awkwardly but surely. And every step of the way, he had the support of friends who deeply cared for him. He even had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend, and she loved him no less. But such a wonderful turn of events did not justify Takahisa's loss of faith on his son.

Akira may have truly forgiven him – but could he forgive himself?

An evening chill ran him through. Takahisa instinctively looked behind. There were no people anywhere in sight, and only a few lights were on. The office building was in full gloom, which meant there was nothing to be done for the rest of the day, or whatever little remained of it. And still, Takahisa Kurusu could not go home.

Funny, he thought. He could swear he has just seen Akira walk by through the corner of his eye. It was only his imagination, he said to himself. None but his own son had that 'birds' nest' for a head, and he was far away. This was only a daydream, his longing and sadness taking the form of his child. However, he did not recall ever seeing him wear a long, black coat like that.

There was no helping it, the mind worked in mysterious ways. Still, Takahisa wished this figment of his imagination had stopped for a little while. He did not, but that was hardly a surprise. Takahisa would walk out on himself too.

The fisherman took a few steps towards the edge of the pier. He could not really guess why, but he did not wish to stop. Moments later, Takahisa was looking out to sea. He could taste the salt in the spray, and he could hear the waves like they were voices. They were calling for him.

Takahisa Kurusu never felt older than in this moment. His muscles felt stiff and cold to brittle bones. And whatever light was inside faded quick. There was a word for how he felt, it was a name for an old creature. He struggled to remember it; he read it in one of his son's strange books, which he collected even before he left.

A golem, he finally remembered. A thing in the shape of a man, made from clay, herbs and lost science. It was a creature sturdy and strong, but it had no spirit or learning of its own, so it is given an artificial soul through a word carved on its forehead. And the word is truth. In removing the word, the creature returns to its base components. It dies, if it ever could be called alive.

All his life, Takahisa Kurusu was made to work, to build and fight. As a child in the humble soil of Okinawa. As an adolescent full of anger. There was little reason for him to change as he became of age until he met Masako. With the birth of their child, the man obtained the truth that had been hidden to him all that time.

But he renounced that truth on the day he abandoned his son.

The rest is science.

Looking out to the seemingly boundless waters, he thought of his wife. She would be returning home that night, and would not find her husband. Absence would only get longer until it was simply the way things were. Time was sure to pass unforgiving beneath that roof. But Masako was always the stronger of the two, the fisherman thought.

"You'll be okay." The man said out loud.

One thought for that Makoto Niijima girl, who reminded him so much of Masako.

Please take care of my Akira.

One thought for his boy, for his lost truth.

I love you, son.

Takahisa Kurusu closed his eyes.